All You Need is Gwent
by Lonestarr
Summary: What's the point in not telling it like it is?
1. Acclimation

Disclaimer: A Gwen and Trent story? Those things still exist? You bet your sweet bippy! (Google it. It's not dirty. I promise.)

The groom looked very handsome in his tuxedo. His mother always told him that he should own at least one tuxedo. Though he felt uncomfortable in such fancy duds, one would never know from the smile on his face.

Opposite him, the bride's face was covered by a veil, but she was certainly smiling as well. She blinked away the tears in her eyes, but didn't think too much about it; every girl cries on their wedding day.

But I am getting way ahead of myself. This doesn't happen for, at least, another couple of years.

Let's go back. How far, you wonder? Well…

Let's say…October something, 2011.

The washroom was as clean as a communal washroom in a girl's dormitory could be given that it was utilized by no less than forty girls on a daily basis. Which is to say...it could've been cleaner.

That didn't matter to the green-eyed gentleman who'd climbed through the window. A girl with streaks of turquoise running through her dark hair helped him inside.

"Are you okay?"

He smiled warmly. "I'm better now."

The girl helped the young man to his feet.

"This couldn't wait for some other time?"

"Hey, you got to kiss another guy in a bathroom."

"Yeah…" The girl tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

"You look great."

"_Hurry up in there! I have to go!"_

The girl sighed. She was a little uneasy, at least until she felt the peck on her cheek. She started to blush. The young man smiled. She smiled back and wrapped her arms around him, drawing him closer. Their lips mashed together. The kiss they shared was as passionate as the emotion behind it was sincere.

"_What's going on in there?"_

The voice on the other side of the door sounded older and harsher than the last one. The young man knew it was time to go. With one last buss, he scurried out the window.

The door burst open. It was a woman, though she was built like a linebacker. She scowled at the girl, who responded with a look of feigned innocence. The girl cast a glance toward the open window.

Outside, the young man hung from a tree branch, shielded from the harsh woman's eyes by the foliage. She closed the window in a huff.

The young man dropped down from the branch onto the ground. He dusted himself off as he straightened up. He gave a quick glance toward the closed window.

"This never happened to the _other_ fella."

The bookish Asian boy in front of the young man just stared at him, wondering who he was talking to.

The young man shrugged as the lad walked off, clearly weirded out.

"_Hey, what time is it?" _The young man cringed. He could hear it from across the campus. _"About _nine _after?" _Some cackling frat boy who thought nothing of getting lit as early as noon.

The young man checked his watch. "No. Actually, I think it's closer to one." Without looking up, the young man extended his free arm and flashed the supposedly hilarious douche the bird.

Of course, it was a quarter past eleven.

* * *

The classroom, as befitting a university, sat roughly 150 students. Most of them headed for the door as class was over.

Political Science was a tough subject at the best of times. A handful of the students were there because their parents were in politics and wanted their children to understand the world they lived in.

Others were just stuck for a class when the easy ones filled up on the last day of registration.

And then, there was the young man, who seemed to have a genuine interest in what the bearded professor was trying to impart.

The young man gathered his books and shuffled across the row of seats to the staircase leading to the exit.

"Trent?"

He turned around. "Yeah, Professor Hamilton?"

"Could I talk to you?"

Trent shrugged as he descended the stairs. He set his backpack down as he approached the professor.

"Is anything wrong?"

"No. Very much the opposite, in fact. You are one of the most gifted students I've ever encountered. Very few students get the intricacies of our government the way you do. Are your parents members of Parliament?"

"Not really. I just…" Trent darted his eyes away, then back at Prof. Hamilton. "…have an interest."

"I wish more students had your interest."

"Thank you." Trent picked up his backpack and headed for the door.

* * *

Textbooks stacked on his desk. Notebooks with writing furiously scribbled down.

This was the desk of someone who wanted to work hard to succeed in college.

He couldn't understand how his roommate wasn't studying just as hard as he was. His course load was just as heavy.

Laying on his bed, the roommate turned to face the young man. "You know of any parties happening tonight?"

"Parties?"

"Maybe not parties, per se, but anything: mixers, get togethers, something. I need to unwind."

"I have a big exam tomorrow. I don't really have the time to go searching for parties." The tone in his voice seemed to be pleading for this to become a closed case.

"Okay, fine. Just asking." He glanced toward the wall clock. Restless, he grabbed his phone from his nightstand. A picture of him and his girl filled the screen. He pressed down on the 'internet' icon and opened his Facebook page.

The 27 people he followed that went to the school didn't seem to have much going on in the way of parties. He dropped the phone in frustration.

"To hell with it. I'm going to bed." He slipped underneath his covers, his socks and pants dropping to the floor from beneath his comforter. "Night, Mason."

"Good night, Trent."

* * *

Gwen wasn't much for getting an early start on her day. However, her mother told her that she'd have to be to live up to her responsibilities for higher education.

She chafed at having to attend classes that started at eight in the morning; it didn't suit her in high school and it certainly didn't suit her now.

She tugged absently on her blouse as she waited in a line of twenty people for coffee. It was pretty cliché for an on-campus Tim Horton's to be packed in the morning, but their java was some of the best. (The pastries weren't bad, either.)

* * *

Running across campus, Gwen held a medium coffee in one hand and her backpack in the other. 'Why can't people have their orders ready _before_ they stand in line?', she fumed to herself.

She ran past a bush. From the bush emerged a weaselly-looking man brandishing a cell phone that he held like a camera.

"Gwen! Hello!"

She momentarily stopped and turned around. "Do I know you?"

"Veek Smars-Houghton of the Instigator. Myself and my loyal readers are curious to know when you and Duncan would be getting back together."

Gwen shook her head. "Duncan? Should I know who that is?"

"The love of your life from 'Total Drama'. So, will you be reuniting with him soon or very soon?"

"I'm with Trent, now. He's with Courtney. I'm no romantic expert, but I'd say that means we have no interest in each other." Gwen started to walk away. The 'quote-unquote' journalist ran to impede her. "Jagoff, I'm late for my class and they only let you have so many tardies before they flunk you."

"But the opportunity to retrieve a lost love ought to matter more to you than an education."

Gwen sighed in frustration. She shrugged off her backpack and fished something out of it. "Okay, I think I'm good for a couple of minutes. Hold this." She handed her backpack to Smars-Houghton, who dutifully took it into both his hands.

"Thank you. Now-" Anything else he had to say was lost in his screams. Gwen deployed roughly a quarter of the contents of her mace spray bottle into his eyes. "What…why…"

"If your hands are full, you can't block against mace", she stated in a matter-of-fact tone. She grabbed her backpack and sprinted across campus.

The 'journalist' was left crawling along the grass, blindly searching for something to sit on and regain his bearings.

* * *

Gwen managed to find a seat in her class, high up in the room. No one liked sitting in the nosebleed section; it made it that much easier to be called on.

Sitting immersed in the midsection allowed Gwen to get some doodling done in between taking notes. However…

"Gwen?"

She glanced up from a half-scribbled clothing design at the mention of her name. All eyes were on her.

The professor glanced up at her, 'Troilus and Cressida' written on the dry erase board behind him. "What did you take away from 'Troilus and Cressida'?"

Of course Gwen got the reading done, but she decided to consult her notes to refresh her memory.

She stopped cold at seeing what she'd written. 'Cressida made the biggest mistake of her life'. 'Troilus was a really good guy'. 'Why was Cressida so interested in Diomedes?'. Some of the writing had been stained with tears.

Gwen steeled herself and took a big breath. "My takeaway…", she started in a voice shakier than she had wanted. She cleared her throat. "My takeaway is that war destroys everything. It can cause irreparable damage to families, friendships and relationships. Troilus, a Trojan, loved Cressida, a fellow Trojan. In the midst of the conflict between the Trojans and the Greeks, she was traded for a Trojan prisoner of war. When Troilus went to see Cressida, he saw that Greek prince Diomedes was flirting with her. If not for the conflict, the two of them might have ended happily."

As some of Gwen's classmates murmured amongst themselves, the professor stared at her thoughtfully. "Interesting. Of course, the titular relationship is but a small part of the play itself. The Trojan War is the main focus…"

Gwen settled into her seat, fresh tears falling onto her notes.

* * *

Sobey's was one of Canada's leading grocery chains. It specialized in exotic foods from around the world.

More importantly, it was Trent's primary source of income. He smiled as he loaded groceries into a paper bag.

"Thanks for shopping at Sobey's. Hope to see you again soon."

Trent's gaze traveled from an irate-looking old woman in line to the person immediately in front of her.

The gentleman looked to be in his late 20s and very street-smart.

As Trent bagged his groceries, the man took a hard look at him. This was hardly a unique situation that Trent found himself in. He stealthily removed his name tag and pocketed it, figuring - correctly - that the man wouldn't notice.

"Do I know you?" A more frequent assemblage of words Trent had yet to hear in his life.

"I…don't think so." Equally common was this response.

"Yeah, I know I saw you on TV!"

Trent sighed. May as well get this over with. "Okay, you got me. There was a 'Littlest Hobo' revival in the late 90s. I was that kid he pulled out of a burning house. The dog was really nice. That'll be twenty-three dollars and forty cents."

The man gave Trent an odd look as he handed him twenty five dollars. Trent could only hope that the man wasn't compelled to verify this information online. Of course he was never on an episode of "The Littlest Hobo"; he'd been remembering a rerun of the show he saw as a kid in the late 90s.

"And a dollar sixty your change." Trent dropped a handful of coins in the man's hand. "Thank you for shopping at Sobey's. We look forward to seeing you again."

The man shuffled off, somewhat weirded out. The sour-faced old woman took his place.

"Find everything you were looking…for?" Trent glanced to the conveyor belt. There were no groceries. "May I help you, ma'am?"

"They told me you worked here, but I had to see it to believe it." She may have looked as old as the hills, but the woman's mind was sharp as a tack.

"Is there any-" The woman interrupted Trent's kindly spiel with a slap across his face. This got the attention of everyone at the other registers.

"My granddaughter loved watching 'Total Drama Island' with her friends. Then, 'Total Drama Action' started. She had OCD. When she saw you, everyone in school made fun of her. After a while, she couldn't take it. She swallowed a handful of pills. I'll never see her again...and I hold you responsible."

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but you don't-"

"I just wanted you to know that." The woman stomped away. Trent's fellow cashiers gathered around him.

"You all right?", murmured one of them.

Trent rubbed his still-sensitive cheek. "I'll get there."

* * *

Much to Trent's relief, the rest of his shift went a lot smoother. Some of his co-workers suggested filing an assault charge, but Trent surprised them by refusing. He felt that the woman suffered enough.

Still, the pain of the encounter - more emotional than physical - lingered all the way back to the campus.

Gwen ran up to him, a smile on her face. Trent tried his best to put his own smile on.

"Trent!" She ran up to him and wrapped him in a hug.

"Hey, Gwen." He tried to put some feeling into it, but it wasn't easy. She dragged him along.

"I'm thinking Pizza Pizza and I'm not taking no for an answer."

"Sounds good."

* * *

Known for Ontario's best pizza, the restaurant was pretty busy, even with a good forty-five minutes to go before closing.

Gwen and Trent sat at a table, devouring their slices. She set her slice down, giving him a thoughtful look.

"So, how did things go today?"

Trent glanced nervously at her, mid-chew. "Fine. I went to work, got some studying in. Pretty boring, really. What about you?"

"Well, I had some classes today. Some Shakespeare here, some chemistry there. I even got some designs done."

"Have you decided on a major yet?"

"No. I'm still working on that." Gwen huffed. "Didn't know my mom was gonna be here."

"Still, it's something to think about."

"I'm a freshman. You know, like you? I have plenty of time to think about it."

"Okay. I just don't want you to run out of time."

"Thanks for your concern." Gwen was about to take another bite when she focused on Trent's face. She stared at it. "And was daddy too rough with you?"

"What?"

"You have a mark on your face. Where did that come from?"

"I walked into a door."

"Or it walked into you. Were you in a fight?"

"I don't fight."

"Trent, I'm not one of your customers. You don't have to bullshit me."

He groaned to himself. "An old woman slapped me at work. Her granddaughter had OCD and took her own life."

Gwen had thought of responding with 'You _did_ go a little crazy', but thought better of it. "I'm sorry about that."

"I hate hearing about that show."

"Tell me about it. Some wacko reporter made me late for class. He asked me when I'd be getting back together with Duncan."

"And what did you tell him?"

"No, obviously."

Trent had an inkling when a conversation was about to head south. "Maybe, we should stop talking about the show. That's only going to give it more power."

"Yeah. I guess you're right. I tried calling you around five. You didn't answer."

"I was still pretty busy at work."

"But you didn't call me back."

"I…forgot."

"How do you forget that?"

"I…I was in such a hurry to get back here. I'm sorry."

Gwen sighed and kissed his unslapped cheek. "It's okay, but don't let it happen again."

"I won't." Trent tore into the rest of his slice. As Gwen finished off her own slice, she couldn't help but wonder why he was so evasive. She shrugged; hopefully, he'd tell her when he was ready.


	2. Lure of candy

The consignment store on Cumberland had its periods of activity throughout the year. Sometimes, it was busy, while other times, it was dead.

Much to Gwen's surprise, it was bursting with life. Apparently, many of the other youthful shoppers had the same idea.

Trent shrugged. "I don't know, Gwen. Aren't we a little old for this?"

"If we're not too old to eat junk food, we're certainly not too old for this." Gwen flipped through a rack of clothes. Her eyes lit up as she grabbed an item off the rack. She tucked it under her arm and rushed toward the register. Trent followed, unenthusiastically.

* * *

October 30th was a night where people tried to squeeze candy out of households before the officially sanctioned day. 'Beggars Night', they call it in the States.

Trent returned to his dorm room and collapsed on his bed. Sobey's was pretty busy on Sundays and all he wanted to do was sleep until the next morning.

His cell phone buzzed to life, the chorus of AC/DC's "Dirty Deeds (Done Dirt Cheap)" poking at him.

Trent groaned as he groggily answered the phone. "Hello?" No answer. "Hello?", he said, irritation creeping into his voice.

He glanced at the screen. It wasn't a phone call, but a text. He opened it.

The picture seemed to be of a blue person, but from behind. The graininess of the picture prevented him from seeing it clearly, but he could make out a bit of orange at the top.

Trent shook his head. He glanced down on the phone screen. The message said 'You like the costume?'

He swept his finger up the phone. The text was from Gwen.

He raised an eyebrow. He dialed her number. It rang. Again…and again…and again…

"_Hello?"_

"I got your text."

"_Great. So, what do you think?"_

Trent hemmed. What was he supposed to think? "Who are you?"

"_Well, I wanted to surprise you, but I'm going as Mystique."_

"You mean, like, from the _X-Men_ movies?"

"_Yeah!"_

"Wow. That's…interesting. How'd you come up with that?"

"_Well, it was partway based on a dare. A bunch of theater girls and me are going to a party tomorrow. We each wrote down the most ridiculous costumes we could think of and put them in a hat. I drew Mystique."_

"And what did they draw?"

"_Can't you wait 'til tomorrow?" _Trent blanched. _"That reminds me, you never picked out a costume. Be a real shame if there wasn't someone to accompany me."_

"Of course I have a costume. Just need to put some finishing touches on it."

"Awesome. See you tomorrow." Gwen hung up. Trent leapt from his bed and rifled through the clothes in his closet. Of course, he didn't have a costume, so he'd have to jury-rig one in a hurry.

Nothing in his wardrobe that could be construed as a Halloween costume.

Trent sunk onto his bed. He hadn't wanted to disappoint Gwen. Sure, he loved trick-or-treating and dressing up for Halloween when he was a kid, but he didn't really feel up to it as a college man.

He considered himself a pretty smart guy, and yet, he couldn't think of a costume. Was this some kind of punishment handed down by…

Trent perked up. The wheels in his head began to turn. He rifled through Mason's clothes, thankful that his ritual of Sunday night study sessions with his classmates was upheld.

He held aloft a black T-shirt. It seemed a little small, but he hoped that it'd fit well enough. After all, he only needed it for one night.

* * *

It'd been a long day for Trent. His classes had been a breeze, but it was what happened afterward that caused problems.

All he needed to do was spray-paint a skull on the front of the shirt. However, he didn't really have a place to work. Leaving that kind of smell in his room would get him into trouble.

The only place he could think of to get it done was in the theater department, where this sort of painting was commonplace. There was another problem: Gwen had mentioned some 'theater girls'. Could he trust them to keep his secret?

Trent smiled. He knew exactly what to do.

* * *

"Okay. That's five bottles of White-Out." The girl at the register gave the merchandise a peculiar look before turning toward Trent. He smiled nervously. "Will that be cash or charge?"

"Cash." Trent produced a ten-dollar bill from his pocket.

"All right. That'll be nine sixty-five." She opened the register and place the bottles in a bag. "You know, that's funny. The way the total-"

"Can I have my change, please? My roommate and I have made a lot of mistakes." The nervous smile was gone from Trent's face as quickly as it had arrived, replaced by a disapproving grimace.

"Fine." She slammed the thirty-five cents on the counter.

"You'll never make employee of the month with that attitude", Trent stated as he gathered his purchase.

* * *

Trent consulted the picture he looked up on his phone. He draped the shirt over the washroom door and painted it with the White-Out. The window was opened to provide proper ventilation.

After twenty minutes of painting (and just as much time drying), Trent donned the shirt.

He glanced at himself in the mirror. Mason's shirt was a little small on him, but it fit just enough. The skull really stood out on his tight frame.

It may not have been an exact match for the character, but given its many incarnations that he saw online, Trent felt it was good enough for the party.

* * *

Trent stood outside of the dormitory. It was a little before 6:00 and the sun had gone down. He just hoped that his last minute costume was good enough.

"_So, what do you think?"_

Trent turned around. Gwen came down the stairs. She truly resembled Mystique, from the slicked-back red hair to the blue skin. The make-up was impressive.

"You're not really…naked, are you?"

"Hell, no. I'm wearing the one piece I picked up at the thrift store and some underwear, just in case. But, otherwise, yeah, I'm pretty naked." She eyed his costume. "Nice. You're…The Punisher?"

"Yeah." The shirt, plus a pair of black pants and a dark trench coat from the thrift store, made for an effective costume.

"Skull's a dead giveaway." Gwen sniffed the air, her face cringing. "You smell that?"

Trent darted his eyes back and forth. "What's it smell like?"

"White-Out."

"People can be pretty clumsy. So, where's the party?"

* * *

By day, it was a regular, abandoned warehouse. Didn't do much but sit imposingly at the corner of Dupont and Bathurst.

By night, however, it could become anything: a soundstage, a meeting place for shady dealings or a Halloween party.

Thankfully, for the costumed revelers inside, it was the latter. A mix CD of spooky music filled the air. It came mainly from film scores. Currently playing: a track from the movie _Spellbinder_.

Gwen and Trent walked in, not drawing much attention. There were more attention-getting costumes on display: the puppet from the _Saw_ movies, Thor and a voodoo doll.

There was even someone dressed like the main character from the movie _Drive_, right down to the (possibly custom-made) scorpion jacket. Trent hadn't seen it yet, but he knew that his film studies class had been polarized by it. Some students felt it was a fascinating modern noir, while others felt it was a somnolent wank perpetuated by a director to whom nobody had the balls to say 'no'.

Trent took a look at how the building was dressed up. "Never been here before."

"Me, neither, but this girl in theater told me how it was good for a party as long as they got a permit."

"Gwen, hey!" A girl dressed like _Hellraiser's_ Pinhead waved at her. The outfit was custom-made. As for the pins? Modified golf tees.

"Hey!" Gwen hurried over. There, she also found girls dressed as an evil clown and (her own personal choice) Leatherface.

Trent waved at Gwen's friends, only to be met with disapproving stares.

"Yeah. I'm gonna see if I can't…find someplace to go." Trent couldn't think of a better excuse, but he could easily tell when he wasn't wanted.

He rested against a back wall. In the past, Trent had no problems when he was at a party; even when he didn't know most of the people there, he was able to win people over. Now, in the wake of the show, even in a crowd of people and with the love of his life a good fifteen feet away, he felt alone.

"_Trent! Is that you?"_

Trent turned around. It was a vampire, who looked a good deal like… "Tyler?"

Tyler shook his former competitor's hand. "How've you been?"

"I've been better."

"What's wrong?"

Trent shrugged. "Stuff. General stuff."

"Well, hang in there. Things can always get better. Cool costume, by the way."

"Thanks. You, too."

"Yeah. I wanted to go as Frankenstein's monster, but my Mom talked me out of it. It would've made a lot more sense, seeing…" Tyler motioned to the refreshment table.

There stood a young woman in a white robe and a frizzed-up hairstyle with a white stripe.

"Lindsay!"

She turned around. A smile crossed her face as she ran over. "Tristan! It is so awesome to see you." Lindsay underlined her exclamation by wrapping Trent in a big hug.

"Thanks, Lindsay."

She let him go and glanced him over. "So, who are you supposed to be?"

"The Punisher."

Lindsay nodded her head. "Oh, who's that?"

"From the comic books."

"Ohhhh. I think I've heard of him."

Trent turned back to Tyler. "So, are you in college?"

"Yeah. York University. Go Lions!"

"_Lions!"_ The cheer went up from a third of the crowd.

"How about you?"

"Humber College."

"Cool, cool." Tyler hurried toward another part of the room. "Hey, guys!"

As Trent saw Tyler greet what he could only assume were old friends, his feelings of loneliness flared up. His old high school friends hadn't attempted to contact him despite his 'friend requests'. He sighed despondently.

He suddenly remembered Lindsay, who he saw primping her hairdo. He smiled nervously.

"I…need to be by myself. Hope you don't mind."

"That's okay. I'll join you." Lindsay followed Trent into a broom closet. He took a seat on an old steamer trunk.

"I should never have come here. It feels like everyone's talking about me behind my back."

Lindsay smiled warmly. "Believe me. I can sympathize." The surprising thing about her statement was that she said it not in her usual, vacant, high-pitched tone, but in a calmer, normal voice.

Trent opened his mouth to say something, but he went agog at the sudden change in Lindsay's voice.

"Please, don't go silent on my account."

"Have you been taking voice lessons?"

"No. I've always sounded like this." Lindsay popped a lozenge into her mouth. "That voice may have helped me get exposure, but it's murder on the throat. Tea helps pretty well, too."

"So…is it just the voice you've been faking?"

"Trent, just ask what's on your mind: am I really that stupid?" Trent glanced away sheepishly. "No, I'm not. Just an elaborate performance."

"I'd say it's a damned impressive one."

"Thank you."

"Who else knows about this?"

"My parents…and Tyler. He was pretty shocked when I told him. More than you, really."

Trent started to think. "You've been pretending to be a dumb blonde this whole time?"

Lindsay motioned to her impressive body. "When you're built like this - 100% natural, by the way - people have already formed their opinions about you before you even open your mouth. I always liked to play pretend, so I figured, I may as well play the part they're expecting. I found that people liked the 'fake' me. I got decent grades, but not solid 'As' and 'Bs'. Had to keep the charade going."

"So, you knew the whole time what you were doing on the show?"

"Yes."

"So you did mean to poison me with the blowfish?" Lindsay covered her mouth. "Well?"

"You know I'd never hurt anyone on purpose, right? I was sweating bullets the whole time. I'd seen that "Simpsons" episode." Lindsay threw her arms around Trent. "I'm so glad I didn't kill you."

"That makes two of us…for the most part."

"What are you talking about?"

"Well…given some of what happened to me later on, there were times when I wished I had died…or, at least, felt like I did."

"What do you mean?"

* * *

Gwen frowned at the scarcity of refreshments at the snack table. 'What's Halloween without candy?', she thought to herself.

She poured herself a glass of punch and looked for a seat, the strains of the _Children of the Corn _theme filling the air. She took a sip.

A few feet away, a group of girls - dressed in costumes that were more 'slutty' than 'sexy' - commiserated, pointing at the other partygoers and laughing.

"…can wear as big a dress as she wants. Her ass is still fat." The other girls laughed.

"And what is with that 'Total Drama' guy showing his face around here?", cracked the slutty nurse. Gwen swallowed her punch. She wanted to hear where this was going.

"Yeah. He is such a joke. Who flips their shit over a number?" The slutty mail carrier rolled her eyes.

The slutty cowgirl chimed in. "I'd be really embarrassed if that were me."

"_You bitches just about done?"_ The girls turned toward the sound of the insult.

Gwen stood up, an angry scowl crossing her features.

"And what does this have to do with you?"

"Why should that matter? Hasn't he been through enough without bitches like you dumping salt in his wounds?"

"What are you, his mother?"

"I'm a friend. That's all that matters." Gwen advanced on the sluts. "Leave him alone."

Gwen stomped off. The slutty mail carrier stepped forward. "Too bad you can't change yourself into someone with better taste."

"I could change into you, but then I'd have to take my own life", Gwen spat, not even bothering to turn around.

* * *

"Okay, that is one of the most heartbreaking and messed-up things I've ever heard."

"Believe me, it's heartbreaking and messed-up to hear about, but excruciating to have lived through."

"Have you told Gwen?"

"I'm waiting for the right moment."

"Ah. Just like I am. I hope you don't wait too long. You two are back together, so you can't keep it from her forever." Lindsay shook her head. "I just can't believe it."

"What?"

"Her and Duncan."

"Oh, that. I don't understand it. You'd think it'd be one of the Ten Commandments of juvenile hall: messing with another guy's girl is a one-way ticket to Shankville."

Lindsay gasped. "Trent, you wouldn't!"

"Of course not, but I'm just saying." He looked into her eyes. "Lindsay, thanks."

"For what?"

"It probably had something to do with the story, but thanks for not giving me crap over nines."

"It had nothing to do with the story. I know a little something about being mocked for my 'Total Drama' persona. I mean, making fun of you for the number nine? You must be confusing me with the airhead I played."

Trent smiled and hugged her. Just as he released her, Gwen opened the door. "There you are. What have you been doing in here?"

"Just catching up."

"That's all?"

"That's all."

"It was nice seeing you again, Trevor", Lindsay announced in her 'dumb blonde' voice as she waved. When Gwen's back was turned, she gave Trent the 'zip your lips' signal. He nodded in assent.

"Well, the candy here is non-existent. Wanna go trick-or-treating?"

"You know we can buy candy for, like, 70% off tomorrow, right?"

"What's the point of being dressed up just so we can _buy_ candy?" Gwen grabbed Trent's arm and headed for the door. "Let's rock!"


	3. Logging man-hours

Trent eased back in his break room chair. He polished off a mini Kit Kat which represented the last of the haul that he and Gwen took in Halloween night. He admitted to being a little reluctant, at first, but after a while, he really got into it, much to Gwen's delight.

Trent glanced at the clock. With a sigh, he pushed away from the table. Looks like break time was up.

* * *

"Mommy?" A little boy stood in the middle of aisle eight, clutching a box of Corn Pops. No one answered. The youth started to tear up.

Trent happened by the aisle on his way to the register. Seeing the nervous youngster made him stop.

"Hey, there", Trent said in a hushed, soothing tone. "Are you lost?" The boy nodded. Trent took a couple of steps forward. The boy moved back. "Don't worry. You can trust me." Trent showed him his nametag. "See? I work here. You can trust me."

"Okay."

"Now, you came here with your…mother?" Another nod from the boy. "Okay." Trent took his hand. "Let's go look for her."

* * *

It took a good ten minutes, but Trent led the boy throughout the store. He passed by the exit. There, he saw a woman looking around frantically.

"Louis! Louis!"

"Mommy!" The boy slipped out of Trent's grasp and ran into the arms of his mommy. She broke down as she hugged him.

"Oh! I'm so sorry, sweetie. Don't you ever leave my side! You scared me so much. I love you." Trent turned to walk away. The woman grabbed his shoulder. "Thank you so much…" She squinted at his nametag. "Trent. You don't know what this means to me."

"It's no problem, miss. Anyone would've done the same."

"I'm definitely leaving a positive comment about you."

"Thank you."

The woman held her son in one hand and guided her cart with the other.

Trent smiled, a warm feeling overcoming him. He stopped suddenly. At the register, he saw a dark-haired nine-year-old boy load a bag of Oreos into his pretty mother's cart.

"No."

"Please?"

"I'm sorry, but you remember what your father said about sweets."

"But they're so good."

"I can't and I won't." The boy pouted. His mother smiled sympathetically. "Tell you what. You get a good grade on your history test tomorrow and I'll take you out for ice cream."

"What about Dad?"

"It'll be our little secret."

The boy smiled and hugged his mother. "I will."

"I love you, Trent."

"I love you, Mommy."

The scene disappeared before Trent's now-wet eyes. "I love you, Mommy", he said, as if in a trance. He shook himself awake and wiped his eyes.

* * *

Trent's routine of waiting on customers at the register was more robotic than usual. All he could muster in the way of conversation was 'Hello' and 'Have a nice day'.

He assured his co-workers that he was okay, but anyone could see otherwise.

Before Trent was even finished with his last customer - a young woman who might've caught his eye if he weren't a) sleepwalking and b) in a relationship - a smug-looking gentleman placed an energy drink six-pack on the conveyor belt.

"I knew I'd find you here."

This got Trent to wake up. "Do I know you?"

"Doesn't matter. That was some funny shit."

Trent decided to navigate this minefield gently. "What was?"

"You! 'Oh, this bowl has nine grapes in it, and nine is the number of justices on the Supreme Court!'."

"Is this really why you came here?"

"Pierre Trudeau was our _ninth_ Prime Minister, born in 191_9_ and served from 1968 to 197_9_."

"He was our fifteenth Prime Minister. I find it unsurprising that you have such a poor grasp of basic history." Unseen by the customer, Trent grabbed the bottle of hand sanitizer next to the register. "In fact, this borders on harassment." Trent ejected two small squirts of sanitizer on the floor in front of the customer. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave, sir."

"Am I not a customer?" Trent narrowed his eyes at the man. "I didn't catch that."

"Yes, sir."

"You're the face of this store. You have a responsibility to give the customer the best experience you can. Isn't that right?"

"Yes, sir", Trent replied, putting an edge into his words. Trent rang up the six-pack. "Six forty-five. Will you be needing a bag?"

"Nein!" The customer laughed as he handed Trent nine dollars.

Trent handed back a two-dollar coin. "I don't need this, sir."

The customer snatched it back. "Must not have been paying attention." Trent rang up the transaction and dug fifty-five cents out of his register.

He handed them to the man. "Have a nice day, sir." The man grabbed the six-pack.

"Don't you mean, 'Have a _nine_ day'?" The customer cackled as he began to walk away. He slipped on the small pile of sanitizer and crashed on the floor, the six-pack embedding itself into his crotch.

Trent flashed an amused smile for a second before rushing to help the man up. Under the pretense of dusting him off, Trent wiped off the excess sanitizer that was on the man's jacket. "My God, are you all right?"

"Y-yeah, I'm fine."

Trent handed the customer his six-pack. "You ought to be careful, sir. When you rush, that's when accidents happen."

"Yeah, rushing."

"You sure you don't need an ambulance?"

"I should be fine."

"Thank you for shopping at Sobey's." The man staggered toward the exit. Trent watched and waited until he was well out of earshot, his expression growing ever darker as he stared. "Douchebag."

* * *

Blue Leaf Studios. An up-and-coming, locally based production company thanks to the one-two punch of youth shows "Pascal High" and "Divorced at 17". One would have to look closely at both shows to notice that they share the same sets.

A sketchbook clutched under her arm, Gwen confidently marched through the studio, passing several rooms; offices to the wheelers and dealers that kept the facility's lights on.

One of them, a middle-aged brunette in glasses, peeked out of her office.

"Gwen!", she squawked in a harsh Jersey accent.

She spun around at the mention of her name. "Yeah, Mrs. Delvecchio?"

"Please. Call me Vicky."

Gwen approached Vicky, holding her sketchbook aloft. "I have those new designs."

"Wonderful. Come in."

Gwen sat down in Vicky's office. The room's wall was covered with autographed pictures featuring herself and celebrities.

"I think I did a pretty good job", Gwen beamed, handing over the sketchbook.

Vicky flipped through some of the pages. Her expression darkened with each flip. "These won't do."

"Excuse me?"

"These designs, they won't do."

Gwen stared at her in disbelief. "With all due respect, I worked very hard on these designs."

"And we appreciate that, but they're too busy."

"What?"

Vicky pointed to a design of a sport coat-miniskirt combo accented with a scarf and go-go boots. "This here. I mean, the scarf. It's not like the episode's going to be shooting in winter."

"It's more for fashion than seasonal practicality."

"And the boots clash with the whole ensemble."

"I got a look at the character bible a while back. 'Rosalie has a longing for the past and tries to reflect that in her wardrobe choices'."

"That is nice of you to be so conscientious, but until such an outfit is called for by the writers, it has no place on set." Gwen exhaled silently. "Understand?"

"Yes, Vicky."

"Terrific. Run your other designs to the costume department."

"Right away", the young woman replied with as little emotion as she could. Gwen had a reputation for being sarcastic, which was good for defusing tension around the studio, but not so much when it came to talking with her superiors, as the girl who used to have Gwen's job learned the hard way.

The office door closed behind her, Gwen stomped down the hall.

* * *

Trent checked the punch clock. 4:57pm. Perfect. He smiled as he punched out for the day.

"_Trent to the manager's office, please."_

He couldn't help but groan. Sure, he kind of knew this was coming, but right as he was leaving? Seriously?

* * *

Trent walked up the stairs to the manager's office. Perhaps the smallest room in the store for reasons he didn't entirely understand.

He took a seat next to a desk, his eye catching the wall of surveillance screens.

"_Trent."_

Coming up the stairs was an African-American male in his mid-40s. Smart, kind and a good husband, this is…

"Mr. Elias."

"We've been over this, Trent. Leonard."

"Sorry, Leonard."

Leonard sat down at his desk and regarded Trent. "So, you know why you're up here?"

Trent snuck a quick glance at the paperwork on the desk. Though it was rare to see his own name on it, he knew a disciplinary action report when he saw it. "I do, sir."

"That customer with the six pack?"

Trent sighed. "Yes, sir."

"Why don't you walk me through it?"

"Well, the customer…I rang him out and, the whole time, he was being very verbally abusive."

"You didn't respond in kind?"

"No, sir. When he persisted, I asked him to leave."

Leonard pointed Trent toward the wall of security screens. He aimed a remote at the screen in the upper right.

It showed the customer laughing and grabbing his six-pack before slipping on the floor. Trent stifled a laugh at seeing the man's tumble.

Leonard paused the footage on Trent's smirk. "A little happy, were we?" Trent quietly gulped. "Now, that by itself would've been enough to make me curious, but then I see this."

He rewound the footage to the point when the customer came up to Trent's register. The footage played out. The customer checked his phone and - in that moment - Trent squirted some hand sanitizer in front of the customer.

"That verbal abuse the customer doled out, might it have had something to do with a certain composite number?"

"It might've, sir."

"Trent, this isn't something like letting the air out of a customer's tires. You could've really hurt that gentleman or even killed him." Trent averted his gaze. "And what if he decided to sue the store? Just because he didn't mention it doesn't mean that it's off the table."

"I'm sorry, Leonard."

"I really ought to fire you for this…" Trent sadly got up from his chair. "…but you are a hard worker; smart, efficient. You remind me of me at your age…for the most part."

"And that means…"

"Two week-suspension, with six months probation upon your return."

Trent brightened up. "Thank you, Leonard." He leapt up and hurried down the steps. Before he disappeared from the manager's sight…

"Don't make me regret this."

Trent nodded. "I won't."

* * *

Trent walked toward his car and whipped out his phone. He hit the 'speed dial' button. "Gwen. Are you free?"

"_Not for another couple hours."_

"Well, when you're done, how about Pizza Pizza? I'm not taking 'no' for an answer."

"_Yeah. Sounds good."_

"I just need to make a quick errand."

"_Trent, I've been meaning to ask you. Where do you go every day?"_

"Every day?"

"_Around five. Your phone is always off. It's like you drop off the planet at that time."_

Trent shrugged. "Just a study group. No big deal."

"_Oh. What do you study?"_

"Political science. Pretty dull stuff, but we need it to pass."

"_Okay. See you in a couple of hours."_

"Cool. I love you."

"_Love you, too."_

Trent pocketed his phone and started his car, his heart heavy with the journey he was set to make.


	4. Yearning for companionship

The time was 3:57pm. Trent lugged a briefcase through the Center for the Arts, a very common sight for Humber's film students.

He hefted the briefcase onto the counter, surprising the dark-haired girl who was catching up on her reading. He placed his student ID alongside it, verifying his identity.

"Just made it."

The girl turned behind her to the clock on the wall. "Indeed you did." The girl opened the case. "Bolex camera, check. Light meter, check."

"I'm pretty trustworthy."

She narrowed her eyes. "So every guy holding one of these says."

Trent pursed his lips. He'd heard whispers of an on-campus urban legend about how a film student shot an old-fashioned amateur porno with his (almost certainly, once news of this got out, ex-) girlfriend. He never thought it was based in fact.

The girl closed the case and slid Trent's ID back to him. "Get any good shots?", she said in an implicatory tone.

"Yes, I did."

The girl snorted. "Come again, soon."

Trent simply turned on his heel and walked away. The shutter of the room closed behind him. He shrugged. On the one hand, he'd hoped that she'd learn to trust again. On the other, he felt it better to be thought of as a pervert than a psychotic.

* * *

Trent dropped a package into the mailbox. The two weeks off of work allowed him to complete his short film assignment. In mere days, the raw footage would come back, fully developed.

Trent whipped out his phone. He hit speed-dial and waited for the other party to pick up.

"_Hello."_ Even when worn-out and ragged, Gwen's voice was melodious.

"Hey, what's up?"

"_Very little. Certainly not me."_

"Why not?"

"_Having to run back to your room because you forgot your chemistry notes does that to a person."_

"I'm sorry. And here I was hoping to see a movie."

"_Maybe, you can tell me about it when we get a minute alone?"_

"It's not gonna be the same without you."

"_Come on. It's not like you've never not gone to the movies with someone."_

"Well, no, but that's not the point."

A strained yawn cut him off. "_Sorry. I need to go. Love you. See you tomorrow."_ Having been just as tired himself every now and then, he knew that Gwen's last bit of energy had been utilized on that string of words.

Trent pocketed his phone and sighed. As he headed for Pizza Pizza, he couldn't help but feel an emptiness inside of him.

* * *

It was a regular day on campus. The wind blew gently but coolly.

Gwen had had a restful night. She slept a good ten hours. Despite her disagreement with her mother's advice, it proved to be helpful. She just digested her plain donut as she marched across campus.

Her pace slowed as she saw the swarm of black-clad figures around Lindon Hall.

Gwen hurried to a small group of students under a tree. She tapped one on the shoulder. "What's going on?"

"Bomb squad."

"There could be a bomb in there!"

"Or someone called in a bomb threat. They might think it's funny, but some of us want to get our shit done right away, so we won't have to do it later on."

Gwen glanced up at Lindon. Her next two classes were in there. Who knows how long the squad would take. She figured that she could either wait around for them to finish, or she could head elsewhere. After all, they might be finished with but five minutes to go for her second class.

She charged for the bus stop, the second option firmly set in her mind.

* * *

The bus pulled up to Eaton Centre. Gwen disembarked, along with a pair of old ladies. Gwen had attempted to chat them up, but one was more interested in sleeping, while the other was deeply involved in a game of Angry Birds on her phone.

Gwen pulled out her own phone and dialed. It rang a good eight times as she made her way across the parking lot. Her smile was slowly fading away.

"_Hello?"_

"What's the matter with you? I thought you were dead."

"_Sorry. I got called back to Sobey's early. I just made it back for my break."_

"Oh. Sorry."

"_So, how have you been?"_

"There's a bomb in Lindon Hall or someone called in a bomb threat. We don't know for sure. In any event, class is cancelled."

"_Good for you."_

"I'm at Eaton Centre. I'm following a lead on some fabric."

"_Well, good luck."_

"And what about you? You catch a movie last night?"

"_Yeah._ A Very Harold and Kumar Christmas_."_

"How was it?"

"_Nuts, but pretty funny."_ Trent had originally planned to see _Tower Heist_, but seeing that the film was playing in screening room nine put paid to that plan.

"Well, I don't want to take you away from your break. See you tomorrow."

"_See you."_

Gwen pocketed her phone as she made her way to the entrance. She threw the door open, annoyed at how she and Trent missed each other again.

Nothing left to do but wait until tomorrow.

* * *

"...and in 1949, Trudeau worked as an economic policy advisor in the Privy Council Office under then-Prime Minister Louis St. Laurent. This two year period served him well when he decided to enter politics later on."

As Professor Hamilton continued to orate, about a third of the students took notes. Much of the rest of them were texting or catching forty winks.

Among the texters was Trent, who felt confident that he could retain the information without having to pay much attention.

Under his desk, he mashed the keypad with amazing dexterity.

'hey'

It took a few moments to get a response, but ultimately, it came.

'hey'

Trent chuckled as he continued to type.

'whats happening with you'

'im stuck in class and extra work to make up for yesterday'

'that sucks'

'so much'

'u think we could get together 2nite'

'i dont think ill be up for anything'

'i miss seeing u'

'me too'

'talk to u later'

'bye'

'bye'

Trent pocketed his phone. A day of classes and a night alone. Hardly the kind of life he envisioned with Gwen.

* * *

Today was Thanksgiving...at least, in the States. The amount of American students that attended Humber represented no more than 17%, all of whom had left for the airports last night. That aspect of the American holiday mattered little to Gwen.

What mattered to her is that her boss Vicky was, by now, already at her New Jersey home. She mused on this as she sat in her history class.

Her phone buzzed, breaking Gwen out of her reverie. She excused herself and made her way out of the classroom.

"Hello?"

"_Gwen, we need you to come in tonight." _It was Delia, an executive assistant.

"Seriously? Why?"

"_Some of the footage needs to be reshot. You know Brianne?"_

"Yeah?"

"_She got arrested late last night. DUI."_

Gwen rolled her eyes. Brianne was best known for playing "Pascal High's" teetotaling good girl Wilma. "And what does that have to do with me?"

"_Some of the producers were thinking, as long as they were changing things around, maybe you could give them some new designs."_ Gwen squeezed the phone in her hand and kicked at the air.

"Is Vicky flying back up here?"

"_Of course not. She's videoconferencing from her house."_

"All right. I'll be there."

"_Wonderful. See you then."_ Gwen threw her head back, almost as if she wanted to scream. Instead, she dialed on her phone.

"_Hello?"_

"Hey, Trent. Bad news about tonight."

* * *

Gwen sat at the bus stop, her backpack beside her. It was starting to get chilly out there and the bus wouldn't be there for another 15 minutes. Gwen shoved her hands into her jacket pockets. A horn honked not far from her. She glanced up.

"_Milady. Your chariot awaits."_

Gwen perked up.

* * *

Trent really liked his Chevrolet Epica. Roomy. Dependable. Inexpensive. The one thing he didn't like about it was what he was currently facing - traffic.

Gwen turned to him from the passenger seat. "How were you even able to pull this off? I thought you had to work."

"I moved my schedule around. This is supposed to be my lunch break."

"Are you sure you'll make it back in time? I thought you were on probation."

"I am. I just want to make sure you get there safe. I figure, this way, at least one of us will have a job." 17 minutes left on his break. It'd be a close one.

Gwen bit her lip. Initially, she appreciated how self-sacrificing Trent was acting...until she remembered the last time this happened. Just as the traffic started to budge, she opened her mouth to speak. "Trent, it's not that I don't appreciate this, but-"

"Gwen, please don't bring up that show."

"It's just that-"

"The show is bullshit, smegma, squadoo. Can we just not mention it?!"

Gwen sank in her seat. "I'm sorry." She brought her head back up, an offended look on her face. "No, you know something? I'm not sorry. I really don't like what that show - hell, just the _mention_ of it - does to you. It's like you're not the same person. Do you even still play the guitar?"

Trent simply stared ahead. "I'm sorry I freaked out."

"That's okay." The cars moved, drawing attention away from the awkwardness of their silence. "Thank you for the ride."

"You're welcome." Trent sighed. "I felt like I had to do this. We've barely seen anything of each other this week. I'm almost afraid we'll end up seeing less and less of each other until one day, I miss a call from you. I don't hear anything for a while, then I find out you've been creamed by a truck." There was a haunted urgency to Trent's words. "I don't want that to happen."

"You make it sound like the universe is conspiring to keep us apart."

"It did, before." Gwen glanced out the window. "I just feel like I got lucky with another chance at this relationship. I don't want to blow that."

"Trent, as long as you don't hit me, lie to me or throw me under the bus when you crash a car, I think we'll be fine."

"I'm pretty sure I can avoid all of those things."

Gwen smiled as she glanced ahead. The production offices of Blue Leaf Studios came up at the end of the block. "Well, that's me." Gwen grabbed her backpack and hopped out. She bussed Trent on the cheek.

"Let me know if you need a ride back."

"I will." Gwen closed the door behind her and strolled toward the building. Trent reached over and pulled the door shut. He pulled back into traffic, a warm feeling overcoming him.

* * *

There were only so many available slots for which to utilize the editing room this late in the year. Thankfully, Trent registered this afternoon slot the day his footage was sent in the mail.

Having only received the package a half-hour ago, he knew he had to act fast.

Very few films were edited on Moviolas these days, so Trent and his classmates didn't understand why they had to use them, but they adapted as best as they could.

Trent spooled his footage, attaching the loose end to an empty reel. His phone rang before he could turn the Moviola on. He was sure he'd turned it off.

He answered. "Hello?"

_"__Hey!"_

"Gwen. How are you?"

_"__Just about to get some lunch. Trent, I thought about what you said last night."_

"What was that?"

_"__We don't get to spend too much time together. Then it hit me. Why don't we visit each other's families for the holidays?"_

Trent paled. "Our...families?"

_"__Yeah. You can meet mine, then I can meet yours. I would suggest meeting yours first, but Mom's gonna insist we spend Christmas together and who knows how long she'll want us to stay after that. Trent?"_

"Yeah. I'm here. That sounds good."

_"__Well, I have some free time tonight. Pizza Pizza?"_

"I'll be there. Seven?"

_"__Awesome. See you."_

"See you." Trent hung up. He exhaled. This was going to be an interesting holiday season.

* * *

Fun fact: Around the time I put up chapter 2, I had this chapter ready to go, then I ended up having to redo it from memory. From my lips to God's ears, I promise that if I ever find any of the c-words responsible for the Cryptowall 2.0 virus, I'll make them wish they were never born.


	5. Obfuscating facts

During a snowstorm, there's no better place to be than inside. At Humber, the best place to be when you had to be on campus during a snowstorm and after finishing exams was Tim Horton's...just where Trent was now.

He nursed his cup of hot chocolate, to savor it, but mainly because it was piping hot.

A handful of people, enjoying coffee and pastries, glanced out the window. The snow wasn't letting up and, if the weather apps on people's phones were to be believed, wouldn't be for some time.

As much as Trent liked the ambiance, he wasn't in the mood to stay.

* * *

Trent was pretty far from his dorm and didn't feel like hiking back. The blowing snow was soaking his pants. He knew he had to find shelter fast. Like a number of people, he got a little sick at spending too much time around pastries; the sickly sweet smell could make one's stomach turn.

Not ten feet away, he saw Pendleton Hall. Trent had heard about a network of pathways that started there, but he wasn't sure. Still, anything had to be better than risking hypothermia. By now, his pants below the knees were completely soaked.

* * *

Trent trod slowly through the tunnel, doing his best to not let the wetness of his pant legs get to him. He glanced up at the windows that lined the tunnels. Caked with snow.

Nothing left but to keep going and pray that the snow would stop long enough for him to get back to his dorm.

Despite there being a number of education halls on the path, Trent kept going. His exams were done. He had no desire to chat with any professors until at least next semester.

Trent reached a door at the end of the tunnel. He pushed through.

* * *

Trent made it to the library. Hallways, tunnels and bridges led him here. By now, he was so exhausted, he sat down in the nearest empty seat there was. He figured that he could settle in with a good book and wait out the storm while his pants dried.

Much to his surprise, the table he sat at had a stack of books sitting on it, all gathered near the table's only other occupant.

"Noah?"

The tablemate lowered his book - Dumas' "The Count of Monte Cristo" - and glanced in surprise. "Trent."

Trent laughed a little. "Long time, no see."

"I wouldn't say it was that long. We did shoot that 'World Tour' finale."

Trent silently mused. He decided to think carefully about what he said next. "So, how have you been?"

"Pretty good. Finished my exams this morning and now, I'm waiting out the storm."

"Yeah, me too." Trent glanced toward the stack of books. "You mind if I read one?"

"Go right ahead." Noah groaned. "Most of these people are just here for the wi-fi. God forbid you do some reading in a library."

Trent plucked a book from the pile: 'Nine Stories by J.D. Salinger'. He quickly put it back. "So, what's your major?"

"English Lit with a minor in creative writing. I've read a lot of books in my life. I may as well try writing one. And you?"

"Film."

"Funny you should mention film. I'm actually working at the Gigantoplex in the mall."

"No way."

"Yeah. Just running the projector. Helps me get a lot of homework done."

"You don't even watch the movies?"

"They're not really worth it. It's all remakes and comic books now. Still, it's a job."

"Hmmm. I'm at Sobey's, myself. It's pretty nice." Trent noticed the rapidity with which Noah returned to his book. "I hope I'm not bothering you. I'm sure you want to finish that book."

"To be honest, it's nice to have a conversation with someone that doesn't involve that damn show."

"Speaking of which, I heard how you decked Alejandro."

"Well, the jackass had it coming for what he did to Heather."

"I've been reading things online. I've heard whispers of things. Really, you and her?"

"Yes, really."

"How did you manage to tame her? No offense."

"Believe me, if it wasn't true, it'd be offensive. She and I push each other's buttons, but we do care for each other deep down. Kind of like how Duncan and Courtney used to be."

"Ah. Still, I didn't think you had it in you to punch someone's lights out."

"You get backed into a corner, you don't have much recourse."

Trent's expression darkened, his voice lowering to a grim monotone. "What I wouldn't give to serve Chris up a knuckle sandwich."

A sound that Trent didn't expect came out of Noah: laughter. "You are preaching to the converted, right there." Trent joined in, laughing off his (serious?) intent. "Still, I wouldn't recommend it. Assault charges and all."

"Alejandro filed them?"

"Yeah. A court date was set and everything, then it came time to pick a jury. By the time he filed the charges, word of how he framed Heather was all over Canada. Everyone they brought in for a juror was biased. After a while, they figured it wasn't worth it."

"What ultimately happened?"

"I got slapped with a restraining order. If I come within 50 kilometers of Alejandro, I could be looking at some jail time...which is just as well; I never want to see that SOB again."

"Interesting story. I think you might have a good head start on a writing career."

Noah smiled a little. "Thanks." He returned to his book. Trent grabbed one from the pile: 'The Princess Bride' by S. Morgenstern. He cracked it open, hoping it was even slightly as good as the movie.

* * *

The set was a high school hallway, as could be seen from the lockers and the fact that 40-50 extras gazed on at two of the show's main characters, Keilana and Slim.

A hush fell over the set as the camera rolled on. The director, with one eye on the monitors and one on the set, raised his megaphone. "And action!"

Keilana scowled at Slim. "Get it through your head: I own this school. If you don't like it, the exit's that way. You will not be missed."

"You may think you own this school, but you don't own me."

"_And cut! That's a wrap!"_

The crowd of extras dispersed while talking amongst themselves.

The crew members congratulated each other. From the back wall, Gwen gazed on. She couldn't help but smile. Her designs for a crowd of extras were to be beamed onto every TV, computer and tablet in the Great White North.

Gwen turned around to walk away, but a hand grabbed her shoulder before she could make three steps.

It was Vicky, whose ear to ear smile made the girl a little uneasy. "Gwen. What brings you here?"

"I've never really visited the set before. I just wanted to see my work in action."

"And it is very good work."

"Thank you."

"I'm sure you'll be happy to know that we won't be needing you any more."

Gwen glanced up, clearly taken aback. "What do you mean, 'any more'?"

"Sorry. I got a little distracted. Any more this year." The girl breathed a sigh of relief. "This was the last shoot of the year. Everyone's knocking off for the holidays."

"Well, that's good to know."

"Yeah. See you next year."

"You, too." Vicky's phone started to ring. As she hurried off to answer it, Gwen grabbed a bottle of water from the craft services table. She took a swig from it just as two extras - teenage girls younger than her - approached the table.

"Can you believe it? I never thought I'd end up on television."

The other girl took a seat, tying her short hair into pigtails. "Me, either."

"Still, it is so boring waiting while they set up the camera. I don't think I could do this for a living."

"Funny you should say that."

The girl glanced quizzically at her friend. "What do you mean?"

"I got a call-back to be on the next 'Total Drama'."

Gwen spit out her mouthful of water.

The girl smacked her friend's arm. "Shut up. No wonder your status updates have been so cryptic."

"Yeah. No one knows yet, not even my folks."

"You really think you'll get on the show?"

"It's down to 30 other people. I like my chances."

"You know what happens on those shows, don't you?"

"I've watched every episode. I know what to expect." The girl with the pigtails shook her head. "I thought you'd be happy for me."

"I am, but it's a pretty long shot."

"I'm getting on 'Total Drama'. Nothing's gonna stop me."

"Yeah, right, Zoey. You get on that show, I'll shave my head."

"Hope you've been saving your money for hats."

Gwen turned around, amazed that the determined redhead and her friend hadn't recognized her. She shook her head. That girl was sure to find out, sooner or later, what that show had in store for her.

* * *

Trent carefully navigated his car through traffic. The snow let up just a little, tricking him into thinking that he could make it. He determined to make it back to campus, taking a brief glance at his passenger.

"I can't wait for you to meet my family. They're all gonna be there. It's gonna- wait. I just thought of something."

"What?"

"You never told me about your family."

Trent paled. "Not much for me to tell. Mom and Dad loved me. I was an only child."

"And then, there's your grandfather."

"What?"

"The one with the train with nine wheels."

Trent gripped the steering wheel, almost ready to rip it apart. The blaring of a truck horn snapped him out of his anxiety.

He pulled the car over, his breathing erratic.

"Trent?" Gwen reached her hand out to try and comfort him. "Are you all right?"

He exhaled. "I'm all right."

Gwen knit her brows. No way was he all right. "Trent, I want you to look me in the eyes and tell me you're all right."

Trent turned to her, his porcelain angel, and smiled. "I am all right."

"Okay."

"You know, I think I'd like to stay with your family for the holidays."

"What about your parents?"

"They're pretty busy. I don't want to inconvenience them. I'll call them, though."

"Awesome. We can talk to them together."

"Great", he said with no enthusiasm in his voice. He turned the key on the ignition. The car roared to life and returned to traffic.

* * *

Gwen sat on her dorm bed, her laptop at her side. The expression on her face was as worried as it had ever been. "I'm concerned about Trent. I can't really talk about this with him and I didn't know who else to turn to."

Two smaller screens appeared on her screen.

"Well, that's what friends do."

"If I had a problem with Harold, he'd be the first to hear about it, but I'm here for you, girl."

"Now, what are you concerned about?"

"He's always unavailable around five, which is weird, but then, I suggested going to his parents' house for the holidays and he practically had a shit attack."

The heavy-set girl raised an eyebrow. "You don't think he's back to...nineing, do you?"

"No. He hasn't mentioned the number at all since we got back together. Come to think of it, I don't remember him getting any therapy for it." Gwen shook her head. "Maybe, that's what he needs."

"Well, whatever's wrong, he does still care for you."

"Yeah. I guess."

"You're not thinking about Duncan, are you?"

"That depends. Are you thinking about Alejandro?"

The girl's sunny demeanor darkened at the mention.

"Why is this a big deal? Just ask him what's eating at him. If he loves you, he won't make a huge thing out of it."

Gwen half-smiled. It was worth a try. "I needed this. Thanks."

"Any time, Gwen."

"And happy holidays."

"Same to you, girl."

Bridgette and Leshawna closed their windows. Gwen shut down her laptop. She always managed to feel better after Skype sessions.


	6. Uncomfortable comfort

Around the holidays in Toronto, nearly every road out of town could be counted on for a log jam of traffic.

Thankfully for Trent, he insisted on leaving Humber before things got too close. His Chevrolet Epica sped along Highway 401, a series of cars behind him.

"Newmarket, huh?"

"Yeah. Lived there my whole life before the show."

Trent nodded. "Cool."

"How about you?"

"How about me what?"

"Where are you from?"

"Pickering."

"I didn't know that. Are we going there to meet your parents?"

"Not really. They moved."

"Oh. Where?"

"Into the city."

Gwen gave Trent a most quizzical look. "They've been in Toronto this whole time and you never told me?"

Trent simply shrugged. "I didn't think it was too important. I mean, you never mentioned your family."

She opened her mouth to speak, but quickly closed it. "Good point. Still, I can't wait to meet them."

Trent sighed as he changed lanes. "I don't think we should be too far."

Gwen glanced outside and saw a road sign: 'Newmarket - 20km'. "Yeah, we're not that far off."

"Good."

* * *

Stellick Avenue. Tucked away just off Sandford Street. And one had to get there by traversing down Mulock Drive.

Trent stared at the houses on the street. All of them looked the same, yet each had a distinct color scheme.

"Are we there yet?"

Gwen glanced out the window. She grabbed her boyfriend's arm. "There it is!"

Trent pumped the brakes and glanced across the street. A lovely two story, three-bed, two-bath Victorian house done in a piquant shade of blue.

He cut the engine and hit the latch to open the trunk. "Need help with-?" Gwen got out and grabbed her bags. "Guess not."

Trent pulled his bags from the trunk and slammed it.

"I can't wait for you to meet everyone."

"Do you have a key?"

"I think it's in one of the bags."

"We're coming back to your house and you don't have the key ready?"

"Hey, for all I know, Mom changed the locks."

"She wouldn't do that to her daughter, would she?"

Gwen shook her head. "Nah." She set her suitcase down and opened it. She dug through her clothing.

Light shone on her, drawing her attention. Standing at the door was her mother. Dark brown hair, a warm smile and a nice figure. This was a mother? "Gwen!"

"Mom!" The two women embraced. The elder took notice of the disheveled clothing on the path.

"What happened to your clothes?"

"I was just looking for the key to the house."

"Oh, you needn't have bothered. I had the locks changed."

"What?"

"You're still pretty famous, young lady. You can't be too careful." She glanced past her daughter to see Trent gathering Gwen's clothes. "And you must be Trent." She ran up to him and gave him a good once-over.

"You must be Gwen's mom."

"Call me Pauline. 'Gwen's mom' makes me sound old. You're even more handsome in person."

"Thank you?" Trent felt himself get dragged by Gwen as he struggled to keep the bags together.

Pauline noticed as Gwen took her cap off. "You know the rules, young lady."

The younger woman groaned. "Do I have to?"

"As long as you're staying in my house, yes."

Trent stared, puzzled as Gwen kicked off her boots and stomped upstairs. "What's going on?"

* * *

"You can just leave the bags at the top of the stairs", Pauline called out. Trent set the bags on the landing and retreated to the den.

There, he found Gwen's family enjoying some television. On the couch sat a sweet old woman knitting. On the other end was a younger woman, lost in an old issue of Ladies Home Journal. In the chair sat an old man who gripped the arm of his couch with a four-fingered hand. On the floor lay a boy who looked to be on the cusp of puberty.

As Trent made a move forward, Gwen brushed up next to him. Trent was taken aback. The teal streaks were gone from her hair, leaving short, black locks. The hair had given her an even more Gothic look than she had before.

Gwen caught him staring at her. "What?"

"You look beautiful. I mean, you always do, but the hair. It just…"

"Don't get too attached to it. It's my mom's stupid rule. Thinks I'm too old to color my hair."

"I think it's a great rule", Trent whispered. He stepped into the den, leaving a blushing Gwen. She joined him on the couch.

"So, what are we watching?"

"Channel 9!", the young boy announced.

"You're watching public television?"

"Yeah." Gwen responded with a smack to the boy's head.

"It's Christmas time, as in a vacation from being an idiot." The old man chuckled at Gwen's remark. "Okay, Trent, this is Grandma Eleanor…" She waved at Trent. "...cousin Lulu…"

The woman dropped the magazine. "It's Louisa May!"

"...great uncle Kevin." He waved, his missing digit getting Trent's attention. "...and this, unfortunately, is my brother Jeremy. He keeps forgetting to ask Santa for manners."

"Mom!"

Pauline walked in. "What's going on?"

"Gwen said I didn't ask Santa for manners!"

The older woman kissed her son on the head. "There's always next year, sweetie."

"We're watching _Christmas in Connecticut_", Grandma Eleanor stated.

"Oh." Pauline sat down next to her mother. "I remember watching that, then you called me into the kitchen to help with dinner."

"Some things never change." The elderly woman turned to Trent. "So, I hear you met our Gwen on 'Total Drama Island'."

"Yeah, I did." Lulu rolled her eyes.

"They hit it off beautifully. It's not every guy that can get through to my little girl."

"Mom!"

"'Mom', nothing. It's true." Lulu scoffed, causing everyone to turn toward her. "Is there a problem, Louisa?"

"Just with the method that the two of you met. Reality shows willfully strip people of their dignity, all for a little bit of money and fame."

Trent shrugged. "I don't know. I thought it'd be nice to make new friends."

"'Total Drama'. Nothing more than a ridiculous fad."

"Says the woman with autographed copies of every Spice Girls album."

"You wanna say that louder? I don't think they heard you in Calgary."

"'Lulu, keep on chasing your dreams. Girl power!'", Gwen mocked in a ridiculous British accent. The rest of the family laughed. All Lulu could do was bury her head in her hands.

"_Trent."_ He turned around and saw great uncle Kevin beckoning him over.

Trent went over and was immediately pulled into a handshake. The younger man took a cursory glance at the elder's hands - pointer missing on his right hand, pinky and index on his left - and continued to shake, not losing composure for a moment.

The older man smiled. "Good to meet you."

"Same here, great uncle Kevin."

"Please. Just Kevin. Now, I heard you've been getting some crap over the number nine."

"Well, yeah, but it's just-"

"I can sympathize." He held up his hands. "Just be glad your name doesn't _rhyme_ with nine. That does not make things easier. One of my favorite movies used to be _Seven Thieves_ with Edward G. Robinson. Not so much, these days."

"Kevin, if you don't mind me asking-"

"Well, I used to work in a factory, making cars." Kevin started to laugh. "Let me tell you. Beer and heavy machinery...not a good mix."

"So, what's for dinner?"

Pauline shrugged. "There isn't much that isn't being saved for Christmas dinner for later in the week. Still, there might be some chili left over from yesterday."

"Really, Mom? Leftover chili?"

"It's okay. I don't want to put anyone out."

Pauline hopped up. "Okay. Be right back."

Gwen stared at Trent. "'I don't want to put anyone out'?"

"I'm sure that your mom and grandma will be working hard on Christmas dinner. Why put more work on them?"

She exhaled. "Okay."

Jeremy turned around. "So is it true?"

"Is what true?"

"That you tried to chop off one of your fingers because it wasn't the right number?"

Everyone in the room stared daggers at Jeremy.

* * *

It was a quarter of eleven. Most of the family retired to bed. Trent polished off another mug of egg nog as he noticed Gwen on the couch, sleeping.

Pauline, in a nightgown, came down the stairs. "I thought I heard someone still down here."

"So, Pauline, where do Gwen and I sleep?"

"Well, Eleanor's in the guest room, Kevin's bunking with Jeremy and Lulu's in my room, so that just leaves Gwen's old room." Trent helped Gwen to her feet. "I can trust you not to make untoward advances on my daughter, yes?"

"Certainly."

"The sleeping bag's in the linen closet. First door on the right."

"Night, Pauline." Trent guided Gwen up the stairs.

* * *

Trent was a relatively sound sleeper. Being an only child in a quiet neighborhood tends to do that. Still, he couldn't bring himself to ignore the worried groans that came out of Gwen.

She was tossing and turning in her bed, her groans becoming full-on whimpers. Trent grabbed her shoulders and lightly shook her. "Gwen!", he whisper-yelled. Gwen opened her eyes, her breathing slowing down. "Are you all right?"

"I had the nightmare again. It's so vivid. I still feel myself in that glass coffin. I keep screaming for help, but nobody hears me." Trent sat on the edge of the bed. "It gets worse and worse each night", Gwen rasped, fresh tears falling from her eyes.

"I'm so sorry." Trent hugged her.

"It's okay."

"No, it's not. I should've been there for you."

"Honestly, Trent. It's okay...but it doesn't explain why I keep having this nightmare."

"How long have you had it?"

"About a few months...not long after we got back together."

Trent hugged her harder and rubbed her back. "I wish there was something I could do about this."

"Trent, there's nothing you can do. The show left a deep mark on us."

"You up to going back to sleep?"

"I guess." Trent settled into the sleeping bag. He felt a hand grab his shoulder. "Trent, I don't want to sleep alone."

"You want me to sleep with you?"

Gwen chuckled in surprise. "Not if you put it like that. Just...sleep next to me."

"Well, thanks. The floor was getting rough." Gwen moved over, giving Trent room to lay down. Trent pulled the blanket over himself.

He gasped in surprise at feeling Gwen's arms wrap around him. She squeezed him and moaned into him. Trent felt a little weird being used as a stuffed animal, but he shrugged it off. There were worse things to be.


	7. Tidings of comfort and joy

It had to have been around four in the morning. Gwen still had her arms wrapped around Trent. Much as he appreciated the sentiment, he could feel his midsection getting sweaty.

Trent carefully undraped Gwen's arms. He rolled over and leaned over her. She truly did look beautiful - almost angelic - with dark hair. He kissed her ear.

"_That's so sweet."_

Trent turned around suddenly. The voice seemed to be coming from the closet. Glancing around for the nearest thing to a blunt object, Trent picked up a lamp. "Come on out."

The closet door opened. Out walked Izzy, who looked to the lamp in Trent's hand. "Is this how you treat all your guests?"

He eased his grip on the lamp. "Izzy?"

The redhead smiled a child's smile. "That's the name. Don't wear it out."

"How did you get into Gwen's house?"

She shrugged like it was no big deal. "Izzy's been in everyone's houses."

"What are you even doing here?"

"Hiding."

Trent pinched the bridge of his nose. "Do I want to know from who?"

"The RCMP. They say that Izzy's been making trouble. Izzy's been a good girl."

Gwen yawned a little. "What's going on?"

"Just watching you two sleep. You look so cute." She pointed to Gwen. "I like what you did with your hair."

The (temporary) brunette shook her head. "How long have you been here?"

"Since before you went to sleep."

"Ooooookay."

"Izzy needs to go." She lifted the window open and climbed out.

Trent pulled the covers up to protect him from the sudden cold. "Where are you going?"

"Wherever the wind takes me...or Harold's house. _Feliz Navidad_!" Izzy leapt from the window to the ground, sticking a landing worthy of an Olympian. "Merry Christmas, movie house!"

Trent closed the window and shook his head.

* * *

The sun peeked in through the window of the room, but the temperature was still five degrees below Celsius. Snow was falling outside.

Gwen sighed happily as she stirred under her covers. She glanced toward the bathroom. The light was on and the door was open. She supposed that Trent was in there at some point after Izzy left, but didn't cut the lights.

Trent crawled from under the covers. "Good morning. Sleep well?"

"Not at first, but yeah, eventually I did", she smiled.

A knock at the door. The young adults paled. Of course, they didn't do anything that night, but the rest of the family's imaginations could run so wild.

"_Gwen! Trent!"_ It was Pauline.

"Yeah, Mom?"

Pauline opened the door, a warm look on her face. "I'm making breakfast." She glanced at her daughter. Gwen had arranged her covers to look like a giant tangle of the sheets.

"Okay. I just need a few minutes to get ready."

Pauline turned toward the open bathroom door. "Trent, I hope you like waffles", she called out. She closed the door behind her.

Trent emerged from the covers once more. "I love waffles."

"Okay, that was close."

He shook his head. "What close? Nothing happened."

"Still, I don't want my family to get on me for anything."

He shrugged. "Fine by me."

The door opened suddenly. It was Pauline, a wry grin on her face. "It's good to know that the two of you can be trusted." The door closed once more.

Trent laughed a little and turned to Gwen, who buried her head in her pillow.

* * *

Trent bussed his own plate. The waffles didn't know what hit them, nor did the bacon. He felt a hand on his shoulder. He found himself face to face with Grandma Eleanor.

"Can I see you in the living room?"

"Sure, Grandma. What about?"

* * *

The room was dark. Trent didn't know what to expect when he was told to come here.

A lamp turned on, shining in his face. Operating the switch was Grandma Eleanor.

Trent put his hand up, protecting his sight. "What is this about?"

"I just want to make sure you have my granddaughter's best interests at heart."

"Of course, I do."

"How many girlfriends have you had?" Her tone was fast and clipped.

"Three."

"Serious?"

"Mainly flings."

"Why did you break up with them?"

Trent counted off on his fingers. "She broke up with me...boyfriend got back from juvie and...she couldn't handle a relationship after her mom died."

"Where do you work?"

"Sobey's as a cashier."

"Good market. Do you intend to work there forever?"

"Of course not. I'm studying to be a filmmaker."

"Hmmm. Favorite movie?"

"_Gone with the Wind_."

"_Real_ favorite movie?"

Trent sighed. "_Team America: World Police_."

"Your idea of a good wedding proposal?"

"Wedding?"

"It's just a question."

"At home, after dinner."

"Good honeymoon spot."

"New York City. I figure, neither of us has ever been and we could see the city together."

Grandma Eleanor smiled. "I had a good feeling about you, Trent." Her warm tone had returned. "Thank you for confirming it." She switched off the lamp and flipped on the light switch.

Trent stepped out of the room, still a little unsure about what happened. He glanced out the window at the snow still falling. His gaze shifted downward.

* * *

Snow had coated the ground. In the front yard, Jeremy - bundled up - was gathering snow, packing it into a ball as big as his hands.

Jeremy rolled the ball along the lawn, gathering more snow. "_Bet that's gonna be some snowman."_ Jeremy glanced toward the front door.

Trent hurried toward him.

The boy shrugged. "Yeah."

"Can I join you?"

"You're out here, aren't you?"

Trent shrugged. He spotted a big deposit of snow near a tree and packed it into a ball. He rolled it toward Jeremy. The boy packed a couple of handfuls of snow into his original ball, which was about a foot and a half wide.

Trent gathered more snow for his ball, a foot in diameter. He placed it onto Jeremy's ball.

"Thanks. By the way, sorry about last night."

"I've already forgotten about it."

Jeremy formed another ball and rolled it around. "I give stick to a lot of Gwen's boyfriends."

Trent stopped in his tracks. "Has she had a lot of boyfriends?"

"Just a couple. The last guy was practically asking for it. He had a freakin' mohawk."

"And how did that go?" Trent searched around for loose branches.

"Waited until mom and Gwen were gone, then he beat me up. I got some pretty good shots in, though. Mom wasn't happy with either of us, but it's like Dad told me: someone hits you, pretty soon, you have to hit back."

Trent saw some on the side of the house, right near Gwen's window. Izzy's landing must've been rougher than he thought. He turned back around. "Where is your dad?"

"Resting Hills." Trent blanched, nearly dropping the branches. That place sounded very much like a cemetary.

"I'm sorry."

"Hey, it's not like you gave him cancer." Jeremy loaded the head on top. "It still hurts, not having him around, you know?"

"I hear you. I remember something my father told me: 'Every setback in your life can make you stronger or weaker. The choice is up to you.'." Trent stuck the branches in the midsection, giving the snowman arms.

"That's good advice."

"I'll tell him you said so."

* * *

Trent doffed his gloves as he walked back in. He passed by Lulu, bitterly planted on the stairs. He returned to meet her gaze.

"Do I want to know?"

She didn't move an inch to acknowledge him. "Do you?"

"It's Christmas. I mean, you ought to be a little happy. Spending time with family…" Lulu stared ahead, unmoved. "You know, not everyone has family to spend time with." Trent brushed past her. "Think about that."

Lulu turned around. "Trent." He stopped walking. "The holidays...they just remind me of what I lost. I had a boyfriend a couple of years ago. He dumped me on Christmas Eve. I may not be a ray of sunshine this time of year, but I'm scared of what'll happen when I'm alone."

Trent gazed on, ruefully. There were times when he scared himself thinking of what would happen when he was alone. He put a hand on Lulu's shoulder. "I'm sorry."

Lulu stood up and hugged Trent. "If you tell anyone about this..." Her voice was quivering.

"My lips are sealed."

* * *

The Christmas tree was a beautiful sight, decorated in ornaments homemade and store bought. The stockings were hung by the chimney with care. Yet, Gwen's family was focused on Trent as he sat on the couch.

Jeremy was especially enraptured. "What was Owen really like?"

"Owen was a pretty cool guy. Had to watch out, though." Trent cleared his throat. "'There's something I should tell you about beans. They make me sleepwalk.'." It was a pitch-perfect impression that got the family laughing.

Gwen stood in the door frame, smiling as she watched Trent. Her mother crept up next to her. "He really is something, isn't he?"

"Yeah, he is."

Pauline glanced slyly. "You sure I can't have a turn with him?"

"No, you cannot have a turn with him! You're more than twice Trent's age. How would that look? Besides, I'm in love with him."

"You see, that's really all I needed."

Gwen shook her head. "What?"

"I was never interested in Trent. Sweet, sure. Handsome, yes. But I'll always love your father. I couldn't do that to him."

"Then why the routine?"

"Just a test. I wanted to make sure it was love and you weren't bringing home some delinquent just to tick me off."

"I already apologized for Duncan."

"Did you not see the movie _Fear_?"

Gwen folded her arms. "I'd like to think I'm much smarter than that girl."

"Good to know. Still, you never know. We meet in a bar. A few Molsons later, he's your new stepdad."

"Mom!"

"Last one, I promise." Pauline sighed. "I wish Oliver was here. He'd have loved meeting Trent."

Gwen hugged her mother. "I miss him, too."

Trent came up to Gwen. "I saw you standing here." He kissed her. "Why don't you come join us?"

Gwen blushed while Pauline glanced up at the mistletoe hanging above the door frame.

* * *

It was late. Gwen settled into bed. Trent was in the bathroom washing up.

"I think your family really likes me", he called out.

"Good to know. I just hope your family likes me as much." Trent turned off the faucet and slipped into the sleeping bag. Gwen glanced down. "You're really gonna sleep down there?"

"And have your mom walk in again?"

"Good point."

Trent looked up at her. He scrambled for his suitcase and opened it. He pulled something out of a pocket. It was a ring.

Gwen gasped loudly. "Are you kidding me? We're still in college!"

"What? No, no. This isn't a wedding ring."

"Then what is it?"

"I didn't want to embarrass you in front of your family, but this is a promise ring."

Gwen laughed a little. "And what does it promise?"

"That no matter what, if we're together until we're old or if we break up in a week, we'll still be friends. We'll be there for each other: babysitting, kidney transplants, bail money, anything."

Gwen couldn't help but giggle. "It's a deal." She slipped the ring on her finger. "It's really nice."

"Thanks."

A knock at the door surprised them. _"Goodnight, kids!"_

"Night, mom!"

"Good night!"

Trent sighed as he watched Gwen fall asleep. He closed his eyes and let sleep overtake him as well.


	8. Daze of the holidays

Trent and Gwen spent a lovely Christmas at her childhood home...but why don't we look in on the rest of the "Total Drama" contestants…

The tree in the living room was dressed up with various ornaments. Underneath were boxes and bits of ripped wrapping paper.

Lindsay's parents watched as their daughter modelled a new pink dress, one of several articles of clothing she received. "These gifts have all been so wonderful."

Her mother, who with her features could easily have been mistaken for Lindsay's sister, produced a wrapped present from behind her. "I think you'll like this one best of all." She handed it to the young woman.

Lindsay eagerly unwrapped it. "Oh, what is...oh-em-gee!"

It was an autographed black and white picture with a smiling redhead. Lindsay trembled as she read the message.

_Lindsay,_

_Never stop chasing your dreams. You could make a terrific actress someday._

_Sincerely,_

_Rachel McAdams_

Lindsay had seen _Mean Girls_ a good seven times when it came out. After she got the DVD, the number increased exponentially. (That the lead actress shared her name was a factor.) In particular, she was wowed by the (then-)unknown actress who played Regina. Seeing Ms. McAdams in interviews and finding out that she was a) nothing like Regina and b) a fellow Ontarioian was inspiring to the teenager. Seeing her in _The Notebook_ only cemented Lindsay's desire to become an actress.

Tears fell from her eyes as she hugged her parents. "Oh, thank you so much."

* * *

DJ stood outside the house. In one hand was a suitcase. In the other was a cage with a grey bunny inside. He reached over and rang the doorbell with his suitcase hand.

His mother opened the door, a smile on her face.

"Merry Christmas, Mama."

"Oh, my sweet boy's come home. Come on in." DJ hoisted his belongings inside and took them to the living room. "How are you doing in school?"

"I'm doing well. I'm learning about Canadian history."

"Wonderful. Roscoe! DJ's come home!" DJ stopped walking. He didn't know any Roscoe. "Now, how about helping me in the kitchen?"

"Mama, I just got in. Can't I relax a little?"

"There'll be plenty of time for that. Now, get in here."

"All right."

"I can tell you about the sweet man I met."

"You met someone?"

"_Sweetie pie, has your boy gotten here yet?"_ DJ paled. He knew that voice. He turned around. Coming down the stairs was Chef Hatchett. "Hey, there."

DJ couldn't help but faint.

* * *

The old saying 'You can't keep 'em down on the farm after they've seen the lights of the big city' would hold true for most people.

"_Beth, is that turkey ready yet?"_

Beth, on the other hand, was glad to be home, if only to see her parents, who she missed. She adjusted her glasses with one hand while hoisting an axe with the other.

"Not yet, mom!", Beth called out. She opened the barn door and headed for the back, where she saw a fattened turkey. The fowl stared at the shadow she cast against the wall. "Hey." The turkey simply gobbled. "Look, I'll admit that this isn't easy for me, either." She started to pace. "I mean, I've been away for a long time. I might be a little rusty, I admit, but this _is_ the food chain." The turkey cocked its head. Beth turned to walk away. "I'm very sorry about-" She suddenly turned around, lunging at the bird. "Yaaaaaaaahh!" The turkey's gobbles became choked as it staggered about. It fell to the barn floor with a thud. Beth felt the turkey's breast for a heartbeat. There was none. "Still got it." Beth raised the axe. This was not her first family Christmas. THWACK! "It's done!"

* * *

A decorated Christmas tree. Wrapped presents. A miserable pair of adults on the couch. A ringing phone.

_RIIIIIIIING! RIIIIIIIING! RIIIIIIIIIING!_

The woman turned to the man next to her. "I thought you changed our number."

"I did."

"Well, I certainly didn't give it to her!", she snapped.

"And you think I would?!", he snapped back.

_RIIIIIIIING! RIIIIIIIIIING!_

The woman picked up the phone. "Hello? Sierra, how are you?"

"_I'm still here in Guam. Now, you're sure Cody is here?"_

She nodded. "Pretty sure."

The man joined in on the call. "Of course, he could be in Nicaragua."

"_Nah. I've been all over Central America. Oh, where could my cuddle muffin be?"_

"Well, there's always Uruguay. Cody always wanted to go there."

"_Of course! He loves tropical climates!"_

"Sierra, aren't you worried about...I don't know, maxing out your credit cards searching for him?"

"_True love knows no credit limit. Talk to you later."_

The woman hung up. "That was close. Sooner or later, she'll figure out that Cody's not in another country."

"As long as it's not today, we'll be fine." They helped each other to the couch. He glanced over to the coffee table and moved the newspaper. "Look. A letter from 'Rad Awesome'."

The adults opened it as eagerly as any child with a Christmas present.

_Dear Mom and Dad:_

_Amish country is pretty nice. I miss the internet like crazy, but not as much as I miss you guys. I wish I could be there; enjoying Christmas dinner, watching TV with you. The people here are really nice, even though the work can be tough. I hope I see you soon, and if not, at least we have these letters._

_Your son,_

_Cody_

The woman teared up and hugged her husband, burying her face in his shoulder. He pat her back gently.

* * *

A man and a woman stood outside a bedroom door that, like the rest of their house, had been decorated for the season. They both wore concerned expressions.

"_No way!"_, a low, irritated female voice barked out.

The man knocked on the door. "Please, Eva. Come on out!"

"_I'm not coming out and nothing you say can make me!"_

The woman tried the knob, only to find it locked. "Sweetie, we just want to see you in your gift."

"_Then I can take it off?"_

"We promise."

The door opened. It was Eva...sort of. Her dark hair flowed freely, but most shocking of all was that she was wearing a pink dress. Not even her fuming expression could diminish the femininity on display.

"I can't...believe this."

Eva's mother beamed. "Your grandmother did such a wonderful job."

Her father nodded. "She sure did."

"How much longer?"

"Just until I get the camera."

"Mom!"

"Eva, we don't see you like this too often. At least, humor us. It _is_ Christmas." The adults rushed down the stairs.

She folded her arms. "Fine." She turned around and stared toward the mirror at the end of the hall. A slight smile tugged at her lips for a few seconds. "Okay. So I do look pretty."

* * *

The barista at the counter held up a cup. There was but a handful of people left inside. "Peppermint spice latte for Katie. Peppermint spice latte for...the coffeehouse closes in ten minutes."

Katie rushed to the counter. "I'm here! I'm here!"

"That'll be three-fifty."

Katie dropped a handful of coins into the barista's hand. "Thank you. Merry Christmas!"

"Yeah, yeah." The barista walked away with a dismissive wave of her hand.

Katie shrugged off the snappish attitude as she took a sip of her latte. She 'mmmmmed' at the warmth of the beverage as much as the flavor. She bumped into someone walking in the opposite direction. Thankfully, she didn't spill anything.

"I'm so sorry. I...no way. Sadie?"

"Katie!" The two friends hugged.

"You look great!"

"You too!"

"What are you doing here?"

"I'm in town visiting my aunt and uncle. How about you?"

"I just needed a break from my family. I heard about these amazing lattes." Katie took another sip. "Soooo good."

Sadie looked up hopefully. "You don't think it's too late to get one, do you?"

"One way to find out." The two friends rushed toward the coffeehouse. "Wait, is that…?"

"I think it is." Across the street, they saw Justin getting swarmed by a crowd of girls. They continued down the street as fast as they could without slipping.

"So, how's school going?"

"Pretty nice. I'm taking some classes at University of Toronto."

"That sounds pretty cool."

"How about you?"

"Professional shopper. It's a fun gig…"

* * *

Harold walked with Leshawna up the path of her house. He gazed at the two-story house nervously. "Are you sure your family will like me?"

"No, but that's their problem if they can't deal with it."

A middle-aged woman opened the door and smiled. "Leshawna!"

"Mama!"

She turned to her daughter's companion. "And this must be Harold."

"It's an honor to meet you, ma'am."

"Get in here. No sense letting out the heat." Leshawna and Harold took off their coats and hung them up. They followed her mother into the living room. "Everyone, Leshawna's here! And she brought a friend."

The members of Leshawna's family turned away from the television to face Harold. From an old woman to children as young as five, they all seemed to have a variation of the same 'we can barely tolerate you' expression.

"I don't think they're happy to see me", Harold whispered to Leshawna.

"What are you talkin' about? Of course, they are. Harold, this is my dad, cousins and grandpa."

"Hello, everyone." The family stared at him. He saw a tray of cookies on the table. "I hope no one minds." Harold ate a cookie, much to the family's amazement. He took another one. "These are really good."

Mama leaned in from the kitchen and laughed. "It's nice to see that someone likes my blueberry cookies." DING! "Oh, the turkey!"

Harold nodded. Leshawna's father stood up and slapped him on the back. "Boy, you are the first person to keep those down around here. You're all right."

Leshawna nudged him, as if to say, 'told you so'.

* * *

A young woman sat on the couch, rocking a baby. She looked weary, but the baby was giving its lungs a workout. An older couple came up to her.

"Sharon, so good of you to make it."

"Thanks."

"And this is Tanya?"

"She's been crying since this morning. I couldn't decide whether to stay at home or come over." Sharon placed the infant in her stroller. "I need to rest."

The woman led her to a chair in the dining room. "It's okay. Dinner shouldn't be too much longer."

Ezekiel watched as his cousin rubbed her temples. He glanced down at little Tanya. "Hey." The baby continued to cry. "You're just a baby. What do you have to be sad about?" Ezekiel picked Tanya up. Still considered something of a black sheep in the family, he wasn't really allowed time with her.

To his surprise, Tanya's crying slowed down. Ezekiel stuck his tongue out at her. This caused her to laugh.

Ezekiel smiled. "I really like talking to you, eh."

* * *

The plate contained turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, string beans and a biscuit. Collecting the plate was a man with stringy hair and a generally scraggly look.

"And a happy holiday to you, sir."

The man smiled, several teeth were missing.

Alejandro flinched at the smile. He gave the trays of food a dismayed expression. 'Even homeless people are eating better than me', he fumed to himself.

Another disheveled man came up to him. Alejandro loaded the man's plate and handed it to him. Another creepy smile.

Alejandro scanned the rows of people eating their meals. As far as he was concerned, this was one of the most depressing places to be.

He scanned the center and saw short brown hair on a woman's head. He did a double take.

"Courtney?"

She turned around. "Alejandro?"

He laughed a little. "So, community service got you here too, huh?"

"No. I'm here because I want to be."

"And why is that?"

"Have you ever taken a good look at yourself?"

"Constantly."

"Let me try again: have you ever looked back on the things you've done, particularly on a television show seen around the world?"

"I try not to live in the past."

"Karma doesn't sleep, as I'm sure you know all too well."

"Whatever. _Tirar de la palanca de tu culo_", he muttered under his breath.

"_Voy a tener que vencer con ese palo_." Alejandro gaped at her. "Courtney _Iglesias_. I don't believe we've met."

"_Merde_."

"I'm pretty good at French, too."

* * *

Owen sat on the couch amongst his family. They all had dinner plates in front of them. Still, there wasn't much eating going on. They sat, enraptured, by the television.

Courtney was on the screen. "_...it's important to remember the less fortunate, not just at this time of year, but throughout the year as well."_

One of Owen's brothers pointed his fork. "Isn't that the big-mouthed girl from 'Total Drama'?"

He nodded. "Yeah."

The scene cut back to a reporter at his news desk. "_Truly a touching piece. Our final story finds us at Lake Ontario where an unidentified young woman seems to be doing her own Polar Bear Plunge."_ Izzy leapt into the water, doing a cannonball.

"Isn't that the crazy girl from 'Total Drama'?" His mother's question was a mix of disbelief and shock.

Owen's voice took on an admiring tone. "Yeah."

* * *

The young man adjusted his yarmulke as he stood in front of the menorah. There were four candles yet to be lit.

"Would you like to do the honors?"

"You got it, Mom."

It meant so much to the young man that he got to light them. He took the candle from the middle holder and applied its light to the candle next to it.

"_Ba-ruch A-tah Ado-nai E-lo-he-nu Me-lech ha-olam a-sher ki-de-sha-nu be-mitz-vo-tav ve-tzi-va-nu le-had-lik ner Chanukah._

_Ba-ruch A-tah Ado-nai E-lo-hei-nu Me-lech ha-olam she-a-sa ni-sim la-avo-te-nu ba-ya-mim ha-hem bi-z'man ha-zeh."_

The young man's mother kissed him on the cheek. "Nicely done, Tyler."

"Thanks, Mom."

* * *

Noah was well aware of Christmas, even though his mother's side of the family celebrated Diwali. Here on the fifth and final night, his family - cousins, grandparents, aunts and uncles - gathered for dinner. Among them was an unfamiliar face.

Noah's mother smiled warmly at the guest. "Heather, it is so nice to have you here. Noah has told me all about you."

Heather was caught off-guard - a new feeling for her. "I sure hope not."

"I'm glad you could join us for dinner."

The younger woman shrugged. "Well, I did promise him I'd be here."

"I'm sure you will love this."

Set in front of Heather was a plate of Tandoori chicken, curry rice, samosa, korma and naan. She cut a piece of chicken and ate it. Her eyes widened at the sudden richness of flavor.

"Not too spicy, is it?"

"No. It's fine." She leaned over to Noah. "Could I get a glass of water, please? Ice water?"

He nodded and pushed away from the table. "Coming right up."

* * *

The couple tried to decide on where to go for the holidays. Their families really wanted each of them there. Ultimately, they decided on the neutral location of the Bass Pro Shops parking lot.

Geoff cut the engine of his car and glanced at his passenger. She smiled back at him. They handed each other wrapped presents.

"Merry Christmas, Geoff."

"Merry Christmas, Bridge." They got to work tearing the wrapping paper off of their gifts.

She pulled out a cylindrical container. "Board wax."

"Not just board wax, but the deluxe stuff. Your board can shine, even at night."

"Awesome." He pulled out what looked to be a mold of his own hat. "It's a hat shaper, so your hat can keep its shape."

Geoff averted his gaze. "Bridgette, I have something to tell you. I sold my hat to buy the board wax."

Bridgette sighed. "I sold my board to buy the shaper."

"Well, this stinks."

She shrugged. "How about we return these and get our stuff back?"

He smiled before kissing her. "That's why I love you."

* * *

The table of food looked delicious. Sitting at the table was a mother, father and their three sons. The youngest seemed truly annoyed to be there.

The mother cleared her throat. "Who'd like to lead us in prayer?"

The father raised his hand "I will. Bow your heads." The youngest son did so reluctantly. "Dear Lord, thank you very much for gathering us here tonight, especially our wayward son. Also, thank you for having him arrive of his own free will and not as a police escort."

The rest of the table murmured agreement. The 'wayward son' rolled his eyes.

"And, finally, keep our son on the path of righteousness."

"Amen", the rest of the table exclaimed. The family began passing dishes around.

The father took a big piece of turkey for himself. "So, Duncan, did you ever contact that girl Courtney?"

"Oh, yes, I liked her." The mother nodded her head.

The youngest son stared incredulously. "Are you kidding? She was so bossy!"

The oldest son piled mashed potatoes onto his place. "Yeah, because you certainly don't need a girl that'll keep you in line."

"What you need is a girl that will go encourage your crap." The middle son grabbed a biscuit to top off his haul.

"Exactly. Let me be me."

The oldest son poured gravy on his potatoes. "News flash: 'me' is a troublemaker."

"Well, maybe me coming here was a mistake." He got out of his chair so fast, he knocked it over. He rushed for the door.

His mother blocked his path. "Don't think I haven't appreciated you being here, but try to understand. Juvenile hall is a memory. You're old enough to go to jail. You think you're a big shot, but you'll be a little fish in a big pond. You need to stay out of trouble, Duncan...if not for us, then certainly for yourself." She wrapped him in a hug.

He returned the gesture and pat her back. "I can't promise anything."

She nodded. "You'll try.


	9. Artful dodging

It was the second of January. Gwen and Trent had loaded their belongings, Christmas presents and all, into his car. In the house, the week following Christmas was rife with merrymaking.

It pulled away from her home. Gwen glanced out the passenger-side mirror. Trent did the same in the rear-view mirror. They could still see Pauline waving goodbye.

The car turned onto Sandford Street.

Gwen laughed a little. "That was a lot of fun."

"It sure was."

"School starts back up next week. It's too bad we can't spend that much time with your parents."

"Yeah…" Trent's doleful tone went unnoticed by his passenger.

"By the way, I almost forgot to tell you…"

"What?"

"The last day of shooting 'Pascal High', I overheard two girls talking. Apparently, there's gonna be another 'Total Drama' show." Trent slammed on the brakes, which would've sent the two of them flying if they hadn't been wearing seatbelts. "Okay, I get it: no more talking about 'Total Drama'. No need to kill us to prove your point."

Trent eased his grip on the steering wheel. "I'm sorry. Are you all right?"

Gwen settled back in her seat. "I'm getting there." Trent gently tapped the gas pedal, sending the car forward.

"Did the girls talk to you?"

"They didn't even notice me."

Trent shrugged. "I guess those girls have to learn the hard way: the show ruins lives."

Gwen sighed. "It was pretty bad, but not _all_ bad. After all, it's how we met."

Trent simply stared ahead. "Gwen, how would you like to meet my parents?"

"I'd love to. Isn't that where we're going?"

"Yeah. First, though, I want to tell you a story."

"What kind of story?"

"I'm still trying to figure that out."

* * *

"And cut!" The director got up from his chair and conferred with crew members. The contestants dispersed from the spaceship set. Some of them were chatting with each other, while others jumped on their phones.

"_Shooting had wrapped for that day on the second episode of 'Total Drama Action'. We had just shot the scene where we peeked through the door of the alien ship. Most of the rest of the scene would have to wait for tomorrow."_

Trent waved at Gwen as she walked away. She blew a kiss at him. He caught it. One of the interns - a nervous young man with blonde hair - tapped Trent on the shoulder. "Uh, Trent, Chris wants to see you."

"Okay. Thanks." The blonde intern looked away as Trent took off. A number of other interns darted away from him.

"_As I made my way to Chris's trailer, none of the interns would look me in the eyes. In hindsight, that should've been a _big _red flag."_

Trent opened the door to the trailer. He was amazed at how opulent it was, from the pictures of Chris with celebrities to the international delicacies.

Chris was pouring over some documents. He glanced up and smiled. "Trent, what's up?"

Trent took a seat. "You tell me."

"Well, I was just looking at a rough cut of the episode. Pretty juicy stuff."

"What juicy stuff?"

"Duncan and Gwen."

Trent laughed a little. "Doesn't seem very juicy. They're just friends."

Chris reached for the remote and turned on a flat-screen TV against the wall. Trent turned around to look. The monitor showed a montage of Duncan and Gwen laughing. "Friends hanging out in full view of you. Friends getting pretty close."

Chris paused the footage. Trent shrugged. "I don't get it. Is this supposed to bother me?"

"Well, what about this?" Chris hit the fast-forward button. The scene changed to the contestants in the cafeteria.

"_I like that movie where the aliens take over the government. 'Take me to your leader!'"_ Chris turned off the TV.

"I like movies. No shame in that."

"Admit it. You're jealous."

Trent shook his head. "You're wrong and for a very important reason: when my dad met my mom, she had a lot of male friends. It made my dad pretty jealous. Mom noticed this and she told him: 'lose the jealousy or lose me'. For Dad, that was no choice at all. 25 years later, they're still together." Trent stood up. "This has been fascinating, but I need to rest up. They're shooting the rest of the episode tomorrow, so if you'll excuse me-"

"Sit." It was less an offer than a demand. The jovial tone in Chris' voice was gone. Exasperated, Trent did as he was asked. "Let me lay it down for you. The whole 'cool, strumming his guitar, nothing bothers him normal guy' bit...it's boring. People don't watch reality TV for boring."

Trent scoffed. "I never thought of myself as boring. I mean, isn't it better that there's one or two normal people on the show? A cast full of weirdos could get pretty annoying after a while."

"You must've been a TV executive in another life, but being that you're you in this life, I'm gonna have to ask you to work some of these...eccentricities onto the show." Chris slid Trent the piece of paper.

"Obsessed...clingy...the number nine. I can't do this. It's not who I am. I have my integrity."

"Dude, you signed up for a reality show. How much integrity could you possibly have?"

Trent narrowed his eyes. "I'm gonna do you a great big favor and pretend this conversation never happened." Trent stomped out of the trailer, incensed at what just transpired.

"Well, if that's the way you feel about it…"

"_It was. I wish I could tell you the story ends here, but…"_

* * *

Trent slept soundly in the boys' trailer. In the darkness, a rag clamped down over his nose and mouth. In the seconds between breathing in the chloroform and unconsciousness, he struggled, but it was too little, too late.

He yawned and stretched in his bed. That was some nap...and what a dream he had, about being knocked out.

Trent sat up. He gazed around in shock. It looked like a hotel room, yet it wasn't. Drab wallpaper, nondescript paintings and no windows. The flat-screen TV mounted on the wall aside, the room was bare-bones in amenities; there was a bed, but no cabinets, no refrigerator and no bookshelf. Pipes ran along the ceiling. There appeared to be two doors out of the room.

He got out of bed and tried to open both doors. Locked. He shook his head. "What's going on?"

"_Oh, good. You're awake."_

Trent turned around. Chris, grinning like a maniac, appeared on the flat-screen. "Chris? Where the hell am I?"

"An old set. It's kind of an industry secret that there was a pilot produced for a reality show about a bunch of contestants forced to live in underground rooms for a chance at...it was so long ago, I can't remember the amount."

"And what am I doing here?" Trent motioned to the room around him. "Is this because I wouldn't do that crap you wanted me to?"

"The show is called 'Total Drama Action'. Without drama or action, what do you have?"

"How about a ticked-off teenager? You really don't see how extreme this is?"

"What, you think it's just a couple of wide-eyed producers running things? It's not. It's bigger. Did you see the ratings for the season finale of 'Total Drama Island'? There are people out there, forces out there who have a lot to lose. The show's gotten too big. It's in the hands of grown-ups."

"_What Chris helpfully neglected to mention was that he was one of those grown-ups."_

"Well, why stop at burying me? Why don't you just kill me?"

Chris narrowed his eyes. "Because murder is messy and leads to a lot of unwanted attention. Later, hater." The screen switched off. Trent growled. He glanced around. No remote.

Trent sunk onto the bed, brooding.

"_As the next...I think it was a week_ _went on, I got to know that dungeon intimately."_

Trent tried one of the doors again. It led to a bathroom. It had a shower and a toilet. He opened the medicine cabinet. Five tubes of toothpaste and twelve bars of soap.

"_Clearly, Chris wanted me down there for a while."_

Trent threw open the other door. 'Perhaps, it's a kitchen or some kind of...' He reared back. A mime was performing his 'trapped in a box' routine right before the young man's eyes. Trent slammed the door, his heart threatening to pound its way out of his chest.

Trent gritted his teeth. "Real cute, McLean. Real cute."

Another door opened next to the television. It looked to be a dumb waiter. Not wide enough to climb out of and, despite not having a problem with close spaces, Trent wasn't willing to test that theory.

A tray slid out with a cover over it. Trent lifted the cover and set it aside. He saw a plate containing a sandwich and a juice box. Trent cautiously took the tray and stared at the rather basic meal.

The TV switched on. "Come on. Do you really think I'd poison the food?"

"You've gone _this_ far."

"That hurts."

Instead of the obvious comment about what can hurt, Trent merely flipped the bird. The TV switched off again.

Trent stared at the pipes over his bed. He climbed on his bed and tried to reach them. They were just out of his grasp. He jumped on the bed. After a few bounces, Trent grabbed onto a pipe. To his surprise, it was cold. Either this was a water pipe or...a pipe for something that involved water.

Trent pulled up on the pipes. After twenty, he dropped back onto the bed.

"_After a couple of days, Chris deigned to grace me with his presence once more."_

The TV switched on. Chris waved. "Hello, again."

"You know, a thought occurred to me: I'm in the opening credits. Isn't my sudden disappearance gonna cause unwanted attention?" Chris started to laugh. Trent glanced at him confusedly.

"Trent, what are you talking about? You never left."

"What?"

The screen changed. It was the cafeteria scene that Trent had shot a few days ago. He remembered stating his defense of _Hegzival to the Chief_ ("I like that movie where the aliens take over the government. 'Take me to your leader!'").

On the screen, he saw what looked a lot like himself, but it wasn't. The earlier scene had been appended with a panicked close-up of him. "_It was a good movie, wasn't it?!"_

Trent looked like he had the wind knocked out of him. "What the hell have you done?"

"It's called creating drama." Chris drew out the last word. "Awesome, right?"

"It's called bull. That's not really me."

"The only people who know that are the two of us, and since we both agree we won't tell anyone…"

"I never agreed to...Chris!" The TV switched off. Trent changed the channel. "_The only other channel available was CPAC."_

"_The political channel?!"_

Trent pressed the 'channel down' button repeatedly. Either bear witness to character assassination or get bored to death. "_The very same. I needed some kind of stimulus and since there was nothing of value on the other channel…"_

Trent turned off the television and crawled into bed.

"_From then on, I had a pretty simple daily routine: I get up…"_

Trent leapt out of bed.

"_...shower…"_

Trent glanced down despondently at the drain as the water flowed off of him.

"_...get dressed…"_

Trent took the fresh clothes from the dumb waiter.

"_... have a breakfast juice box…"_

Trent grimaced at the stale pieces of toast and the juice box on the tray.

"_...watch some CPAC…"_

Trent stared at the television, nearly nodding off.

"_...lunch juice box…"_

Trent snatched the juice box from the tray, ignoring the sandwich.

"_...exercise…"_

Trent pulled himself up on the pipes.

"_...straighten up my cell…"_

Trent moved his bed a few inches to the left.

"_...more CPAC…"_

Trent's eyelids closed and fell asleep. He caught himself and shook himself awake.

"_...dinner…"_

Trent grudingly took the sandwich from the tray and tore into it. He glanced down at it. "Liverwurst?!"

"_...Total Drama Action if I wanted to punish myself…"_

Trent winced at how unhinged this doppelganger was acting on the show. How anyone could be so brain-damaged as to believe that this was the same normal guy from the first season was a mystery that would best even Sherlock Holmes.

"_...then crying myself to sleep."_

Trent exhaled as fresh tears doused his pillow.

"_What about the pipes, Trent? Didn't you try to get someone's attention by banging on them?"_

"_Of course I did."_

Trent bounced on his bed. He grabbed a pipe with one hand. With the other, he banged on the pipe with a tray.

"_It was worthless. I wasn't anywhere near people. No way anyone would know I was gone."_

Trent dropped down onto his bed. He frisbeed the tray across the room, leaving a dent in the bathroom door.

"_Then came _my _elimination episode." _Trent turned on the TV. He switched away from CPAC and sat down on his bed. Moment by moment, his ennui mutated into rancor. "_I didn't have too much of a problem with Chris when 'Total Drama Island' started. Before he locked me in the dungeon, I admit I was mildly annoyed with him. But if I merely disliked him _before _that episode...by the time it was over, I hated him."_

"Chris!" Trent yelled the name at the top of his lungs.

Speak of the devil and he shall appear...like on Trent's screen. "Hey, Trent! You see the show?" Trent said nothing, his anger momentarily robbing him of speech. "I'm assuming that's a 'yes'. See, action, humor, drama. _That_ is good television."

"But at what cost?"

Chris laughed. "What are you talking about? You didn't even have to spend a dime."

"You've destroyed my credibility. You've ruined my life!"

"But think of this: you're gonna be the most famous contestant in the show's history!"

"But not in a positive way!"

"This is a weird way of showing gratitude. People want good television, an entertaining show. You help make that happen and you're upset?" Chris's tone suggested that he meant every word he said.

"Listen to me very carefully, Chris: when I get out of here - not if, _when_ \- I'm gonna rip your head off and take a shit down your neck."

"My, my, my. I never took you for the threatening type."

"There's a big difference between threats and promises. Why don't you come down here? I'll tell you all about it."

"See, if you'd shown this kind of spunk in the first season, we wouldn't be here now."

Trent balled his hands into fists. "Let me out of here, _**now**_!"

"Hmmm. I was planning to let you out, but because of that little outburst, why don't you stay here for another month; give you a chance to cool down."

"Chris! Chris!"

"_I must've yelled every profanity I could think of. After a while, I passed out from exhaustion."_

Trent woke up on the floor. He fumed, the memory of yesterday having returned.

"_I couldn't bring myself to watch the show again. Also, that 'another month' turned into three and a half months. During that time, I lost all illusions about Chris letting me walk out. I had to get out on my own."_


	10. Wrecked road

Trent stripped his pillow of its pillowcase. He wrapped it tightly around his hand. He went to the bathroom.

He stared in the mirror, noticing the beard that had grown in the months since. His face twisted into bitter hatred, Chris's voice coming back to him. _Dude, you signed up for a reality show…_

With a yell, Trent punched the mirror.

CRACK!

The broken glass flew everywhere, falling mainly into the sink.

* * *

Trent cracked open the door out of his room. The mime was still struggling his way out of the box.

"_Of course, that meant getting past my greatest fear."_

Trent took several breaths and hung his head.

"_What it came down to was a simple question: was I more afraid of mimes or of Chris getting away with this?"_

Trent steeled himself as he threw open the door. He was face to face with the mime. He gritted his teeth as the mime stood to his feet and started walking against the wind.

Trent balled his hand into a fist. He reared back and...connected with air. The mime was a hologram. Trent scoffed.

"_One more thing to get Chris for."_

Trent slowly made his way down the darkened hallway, feeling around for a path.

* * *

A big piece of the mirror sat near the bed, which had been turned to face the television.

The TV screen turned on. It was Chris, in all his smirking glory.

"Hey, Trent. How's everyone's favorite psych...oh."

Chris blanched. Crudely etched into the headboard of the bed was a message that made the host's blood run cold, if only for a second:

PRAY I NEVER FIND YOU

* * *

_"Okay, how could you have known that Chris would say that?"_

_"I didn't, but it was worth a shot. Besides, he probably referred to me that way to _someone._"_

Trent felt around for quite a while. Thankfully, he'd bumped into a handrail at a certain point, which guided him along. He figured that there had to be a way out. Himself and the bed and television didn't get there by magic.

He bumped into another rail, signalling a corner. Trent turned and followed the path.

"_Honestly, I thought I'd be searching forever, but then I found the light at the end of the tunnel."_

A light shined down at the end of the path. Trent ran toward it, arms out in front of him.

His hands bumped against a ladder. He climbed up. "Ah!" His head bumped against a grating.

Suddenly, something covered the light up. "Oh, no. You're not getting rid of me that easily, you son of a bitch!"

Trent kicked at the grating, an angry grunt accompanying every kick.

"_I really thought that Chris had rushed to stop me from escaping. As it turns out…"_

* * *

A beat-up steamer trunk sat on the grating. The fresh dirt stains suggest that it landed on the side of the road only recently.

* * *

"_Still, I kept at it. I wanted to see my Mom and Dad again. Tell them how much I loved them and missed them. Tell them that that impostor wasn't me. I wanted to tell you the same. And I wanted to see the look on Chris's face when he saw me."_

With one loud yell, Trent kicked the grating open, the door ripping through the bottom of the trunk. He climbed out of the trunk. He inhaled deeply, savoring the feel of fresh air.

He trudged through a field of grass. He stumbled, a little woozy from the escape. He picked himself and continued walking. He stopped at seeing the road.

The sun shined down on Trent. He glanced around for some kind of sign telling him where he was. There weren't any.

Trent started down the road.

He heard a car behind him. Trent turned around and stuck his thumb out. 'Why not?', he figured. It worked in the movies. The car zoomed by him. Trent sighed as he turned back to walking.

* * *

Six cars passed him by. Whether the drivers were leery of hitchhikers or whether they recognized him from "Total Drama Action", he didn't know.

Exhaustion was starting to overtake him. He hadn't eaten anything solid since last night.

Trent collapsed to his knees on the side of the road.

"_You can probably guess that the story doesn't end here, but for a few moments, I really thought I'd never see you or my folks again."_

A car stopped behind Trent. Two people got out of the backseat and loaded him in.

"...poor man…"

"...looks like that guy…"

"...no way...Montreal…"

In his weakened state, Trent could only make out snatches of the excited conversation of the family that picked him up.

* * *

The car stopped. Trent came to in the back seat. He shook himself awake. He started to hyperventilate. "Who are you?"

"He's awake." One of the girls glanced toward him with her piercing blue eyes.

"Who are you?"

The father, in the driver's seat, turned toward the new passenger. "We're the Luddens. Art, Bea, Lily and Jo."

"Oh. Thank you. I'm Trrrr...ey. Trey."

The mother, riding shotgun, smiled at him. "Good to meet you. You look pretty thin. Care to join us for lunch?"

"Sure."

* * *

_"Trey?"_

_"They've heard about Trent from 'Total Drama Action'. Would they really believe that I'm not that guy? Would they care?"_

JJ's Good Eats was a pretty popular restaurant in Kingston, not least because of the Pluto Challenge. Anyone who could down a pair of double burgers, two sides of poutine and a chocolate shake would earn immortality...at least, on the JJ's Wall of Fame. The $1200 was a pretty good incentive, as well.

Given the stunned glances of the Ludden Family and just about everyone else in the restaurant, Trent was well on his way. It had been eight minutes since he started eating. One of the burgers was already digested and he was digging into his first helping of poutine (that's french fries smothered in cheese curds and gravy for non-Canucks).

One of the onlookers stared impressed. He, himself, was working on a Yukon Burger and fries. He could polish off something like that in no time, but he was amazed that this...kid was taking on such a challenge.

Twenty minutes later, Trent finished off the last of the milkshake. With a loud belch, he signalled that he was done. One of the waitresses started to clap. Soon enough, the whole restaurant had erupted in applause.

Some of the people whipped out their phones to document the event. The waitress who led the cheer grabbed a Polaroid instant camera. The picture slid out of the camera's maw. She grabbed it and shook it.

The picture continued to develop as it was pinned on the 'Wall of Fame' alongside a dozen other logy champions. Written on the bottom in Sharpie was 'Trey - 8/26/10'.

The owner of the restaurant came up to Trent. "Tell me, what inspired you to take on and complete this amazing challenge?"

"I was hungry."

* * *

Despite how clean the bathroom was, there was a weird smell like it had been overdisinfected. Trent turned off the faucet and took a few paper towels to dry his wet hands.

"_I saw what you did out there."_

Trent turned around suddenly. The gentleman looked to be in his 40s, heavyset, with a scratchy voice that was the result of too much smoking.

"I don't think I know you."

He extended his hand. "Name's Jock."

Trent hesitantly shook it. "Trey."

"Really impressive how you handled that challenge."

"Thanks."

"We could use someone like you."

"Thanks, but I don't eat competitively."

"Not that." He patted himself down and pulled out a business card. "You ever need a job, go there."

Trent stared at it, not sure what to make of it. "Thank you."

"_He seemed nice enough, but...I just wasn't interested."_

* * *

Trent leaned against a pay phone. "_You've reached Patrick and Annette Van Horn. We're not in, so leave a message."_ Trent tried to hold back tears at hearing his parents' voices.

BEEP!

"Hey, this is Trent. The _real_ Trent, not that fake. I can't wait to see you again. I'll tell you all about it when I get home. I'm at JJ's Good Eats. I love you."

Trent hung up. He turned around. The Luddens were gone.

He glanced out the window. He saw Jock getting into his truck. He rushed outside.

"_This is one of the weirdest things I'd ever done. I barely knew the guy, but since I didn't know anyone else there, I had to take a shot."_

* * *

Jock reached over to turn the key of his engine. He heard a knock at his door. He glanced out to see Trent looking up at him.

"I know we only just met, but I'm pretty desperate to get back home. Could you please give me a ride?"

Jock smiled. "Where you headin'?"

* * *

1300 Grovedale Court. Having lived there every day for 17 years, Trent knew every inch of the property. Every brick, every shingle, every window pane.

What he wasn't familiar with was the 'For Sale' sign on the lawn. Trent banged on the door. No answer.

He peered through the window. Bare as the day is born. His eyes traveled along the inside, then he saw it on the floor. An answering machine.

Trent banged his head on the window. Fate had him bent over a table, for sure.

He trudged back to the truck.

"There's no one there."

"I'm sorry, Trey. Any place else I can drop you?" Trent shrugged. "Any other family or friends you can stay with?"

"No."

"Well, you gotta stay someplace."

Trent glanced up. "Know any good hotels?"

* * *

The Hyatt Regency Toronto. A popular destination for travelers who wanted an easy trek to Fan Expo Canada. Apparently, there was a movie theatre being constructed just up the street. It wouldn't be finished for another few weeks.

Trent could've used the cheering up that a good movie would provide.

As he trudged to the front desk, he reached in his pocket and felt the money from JJ's burning a hole in his pocket. If he was careful on how he handled his money, he could spend - maybe - a week here before he was tossed out.

"I'd like a room, please."

The concierge typed on the keyboard and stared at the computer screen. "Very well. That will be $150, sir."

Trent peeled some bills from his wad of cash and slapped them down on the desk.

The concierge took a good look at Trent. "Will you need anyone to check your luggage?", he said with a smirk.

* * *

"_After that, I checked a phone book, only to find that my parents had gone unlisted. Given what that fake did to my good name, who could blame my folks for not wanting to be harassed?"_

Trent flopped down on his bed. He frisbeed the phone book onto the floor.

He glanced out the window. The sun was setting. He climbed under the covers, frustrated at his impotence, but momentarily grateful that he was sleeping above ground for once.

* * *

Trent got out of bed and picked up his pants, having tossed them onto the chair the night before. He glanced down at the business card that had slipped from the pocket.

He stared at it. He had a mere $1050 left to his name. Still, someone was offering him a chance at a job.

Trent shrugged. What's the worst that could happen?

* * *

Trent opened the door to the office. It was pretty constricted. Then again, this wasn't a line of work that lent itself to fancy meetings.

"_I went to the trucking company. I met the boss, Mr. Lewton. He told me…"_

"Trucking ain't a young man's game."

"I don't have very much else, sir. Also, Jock recommended me here."

"Well, if Jock speaks well of you…" Mr. Lewton shook Trent's hand. "Welcome aboard."

"Thank you. There's just one thing. I don't know how to drive a truck."

"You ever driven a car?"

Trent shrugged. "Couple times."

"It's kind of like that, but bigger."

"_The next couple of months, I learned to handle a big rig. It wasn't easy, at first, but I got the hang of it. A number of people rolled in and out during my time there. In fact, someone had just quit the night before I arrived. There was a core group of guys there. Got to know them pretty well."_

Trent made his way to the garage. There, he saw four middle-aged guys playing cards.

"_I already met Jock. He was all-everything in high school, 'til he tore his ACL. Tried to eat, then smoke the pain away."_

"_There was Sage, who always had words of wisdom. He also liked sage. He put it on everything. No one could remember which of those aspects earned him the name."_

"_There was Mack. He was Scottish."_

"_And then, there was Lowell. Never said much."_

* * *

"_I got to go all over Canada. I'd never dreamed I'd see so much of it in my life. I made deliveries to department stores, movie theaters, factories. I loved going to the theatres. Got to see a lot of movies. Helped plant the seed for filmmaking. I even got to go to a comic convention. I'll never forget what happened."_

Trent loaded his last box out of the carriage. He tapped a security guard on the shoulder. "You mind if I use the bathroom?"

"No. Just up the hallway and third door on the left."

* * *

Trent was amazed to see so many people dressed up. He glanced across the convention center. His eyes stopped on a booth. "'Total Drama World Tour'?"

Before Trent could charge forth, a couple bumped into him. He focused deeply on the twosome. The girl wore thigh-high boots, dark stockings, a leather miniskirt, a midriff-baring top, a choker and had streaks of teal running through her dark hair. In short, she looked just like Gwen.

Her companion had sneakers, long shorts, a skull on his T-shirt, a spiked collar and a loosely gelled green mohawk.

Trent gaped at the cosplay. Was this really a thing?!

Trent slyly approached "Gwen" while their backs were turned. "You can do so much better."

"Gwen" and "Duncan" turned around. A lot of cosplayers and merchants...but no sign of the amateur couples counselor.

"_You did not do that."_

"_I totally did, and I'd do it again."_

* * *

The bar was just up the road from the trucking company, so the guys wouldn't have to worry about designated drivers. It contained every shade of tough guy and carouser. Trent sat at the bar, a glass of seltzer before him.

Jock nudged him. "Just have one drink, Trey."

"I'm sorry. I don't drink."

"Haven't you ever tried alcohol before?"

"No."

Mack flanked him. "Not even at a party?"

Trent shook his head. "I just never felt a need to drink."

The guys snorted and walked away. Trent finished his glass of seltzer and glanced up. The bartender flipped through the channels.

The television flipped past what looked to be "Total Drama World Tour". Duncan and Gwen were in a bathroom, their faces moving closer. The shot lasted for a millisecond, but it would be burned into Trent's memory for the next twelve lifetimes.

"Turn it back!"

The bartender stared at Trent. "What?"

"Turn it back! Now!"

"Fine," he said, rolling his eyes.

The scene played out before Trent's eyes. Duncan and Gwen were kissing. Tyler's WTF expression (and really, can anyone name a more appropriate three-letter grouping for a situation like this?) was the exclamation point on the scene.

"Can I change the channel now?"

"By all means." The fight had gone out of Trent. He picked up his empty glass. "Barkeep?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm gonna need you to fill this glass with every drop of vodka you have."

"You got it."

Within fifteen minutes, Trent's vision was blurred. His legs were rubbery. His words unintelligible. There's nothing like drinking one's sorrows away.

As he was dragged outside by his fellow truckers, he started to...it seemed like singing, but his speech was still in the pre-Cambrian era. "Whe somebody lub me, evything wub bootiful, 'fre our we spen' t'gether, liss wiffin my harp..."

* * *

"_This may sound ridiculous, but after that, I saw you everywhere. I don't mean because you were on...that show, but I literally saw you everywhere."_

Trent walked into a restaurant. The hostess came up to him. "Table for one, sir?" She looked like Gwen.

"Yeah." Trent was weirded out. As the server led him to his table, he saw two Gwens arm-wrestling. At another table, a mother Gwen was spoon feeding her Gwen baby. Another table had two Gwens making out.

"What are you lookin' at, white boy?" It seemed like a big-boned African-American woman, but with Gwen's pigmentation and hairstyle.

"Nothing. Sorry", Trent mumbled under her withering gaze.

_"And for the briefest of moments, I considered going for it."_

_"Seriously?"_

_"I love you, but...you're skinny. You should eat something."_

_"Oy."_

The hostess led him to a table. "Here you are, sir. Someone should be over, soon."

"Thank you, Gwen."

"My name is Holly."

Trent shook his head. "Isn't that what I said?"

* * *

In the garage, the guys were huddled around a rabbit-ears television watching a hockey game.

"Trey, is everything all right?" Jock put a hand on his shoulder.

"Of course. Why do you ask?"

"Well, you've been going around calling people Gwen."

"Huh? No. That's not…it's just…"

Sage glanced up from his hoagie. "If one keeps his gaze on the past, he will not see the future or the present."

Mack took a swig of beer. "We know a broken heart when we see one. There's just one cure for that."

"It's not drinking, is it?"

The guys paused. "Okay. There are _two_ cures for that."

* * *

"_They told me to go to the Pink Motel just off of the 403 and head for room 8. I wasn't sure what to expect."_

Trent made his way down the row to room 8.

"_I just hoped it wasn't some kind of prank."_

He knocked on the door.

_"Door's open." _The voice sounded like a woman's, but with a worn quality that comes from a lot of drinking.

"Hello?" Trent turned the lights on. Lying on the bed was a woman with brown hair, a short skirt, fishnets and a bustier.

_"I actually started to wish it was one."_

"Are you Trey?"

"I...am?"

The woman stared impatiently. "Well, are you or ain't you?"

"I...am."

"_Wait. They had you meet a hooker?"_

"_I'd had enough of drinking, okay?"_

"Close the door."

_"Her name was Peaches. I didn't dare ask what it really was. Besides, what room did I have to bitch about someone using a fake name?"_

Trent sat in a chair, clearly uncomfortable with the current situation. "So, what do you do?"

"Anything you want."

"Really?"

_"You didn't!"_

_"Well..."_

* * *

Trent was hunched over, moaning. Peaches looked bored. This wasn't anything new to her.

He straightened up, tears in his eyes. The both of them were still fully clothed. "...and there she was, kissing some other guy. I wanted to jump in front of a truck."

"_All we did was talk. The guys dropped a hundred on her, so I had to give them a pretty convincing story. I think I succeeded."_

* * *

Trent carried a box through the Vancouver Public Library. He stopped at seeing a television on the wall. Kind of counterproductive to the idea of a library, but who was he to argue progress?

"_Then, one April day, I was delivering a bunch of new books to a public library. I got the last box in when I heard the news."_

"...a drunk driver crashed into the car on Spadina Avenue in Toronto. The victims are identified as Patrick and Annette Van Horn, the parents of 'Total Drama Island' contestant Trent Van Horn. Patrick died instantly. Annette currently lies comatose. Doctors aren't sure if she'll make it."

Trent started to shake. He dropped the box, spilling books everywhere. He ran to the nearest bathroom and hyperventilated. He ran into a stall and sat on the toilet. He buried his face in his hands and sobbed.

"_At that moment, I honestly wished that Chris had killed me. I just couldn't go on at that point."_

* * *

"_I knew I had to drive back, even though I could barely concentrate."_

Trent wiped the tears from his eyes with his hand. He only noticed just then that he was swerving into the opposite lane. A chorus of horn honks brought him back to consciousness.

Trent pulled into a truck stop. He cut the engine and started to cry anew.

"_I honestly didn't care who saw me. I thought of all the things I wished I could've said to my father and how I'd never get to say them."_

Trent pounded on the steering wheel in anger.

"_I must've spent three hours letting it all out. I was cried out enough to drive back with no problem. On my way back, I realized that life is too short for regrets; for not following your dreams. I knew what I had to do."_

* * *

The cigar nearly dropped from Mr. Lewton's mouth. "You're quitting?"

"I don't want to, sir, but...between my parents and nearly running off the road, this is something I need to do. Hell, I don't even have a high school diploma."

"Neither do half the guys in the company." Trent couldn't help but laugh. "Well, you did good work, but like I told you, this ain't a young man's game."

"Yeah."

"I'll miss you." The man shook Trent's hand. "If I'm still around in a decade, look me up."

"I'll probably have moved on by that point, but thank you."

* * *

Trent walked toward the front gate. The guys came up behind him.

Jock stared at him. "You really leaving without saying goodbye?"

"I guess not."

"You're one of us, now. Whatever you need, you got. Someone gives you trouble, tell 'em 'Jock and the boys say hello'."

"Okay."

Lowell stepped forward. "Do you have a car?" The others gasped.

"No."

"Need a lift?"

Trent thought about it. "Toronto General."

* * *

Everything about being in a hospital made Trent uneasy. The sick people, the doctors, the machines with their dirge-like beeping.

Still, if this was the only way to see his mother, so be it. He marched to the front desk. The nurse glanced toward the shadow cast over her. "May I help you?"

"I'd like to see Annette Van Horn, please."

"Only family allowed."

"I'm her son."

"No way. You said you didn't want anything to do with them."

Trent shook his head. "I didn't say that."

"Well, someone who looked and sounded like you said that."

He put on his best fake smile. "I'll try this again: I'd like to see my mother, please."

She rolled her eyes. "Fine. Whatever. Three-sixteen."

* * *

Trent entered room three-sixteen. His eyes fixed on his mother lying in bed. She slept peacefully, the beeping of the machines acting as some odd lullaby.

Trent's eyes started to water. "Hi. Mom." He pulled up a chair. "Long time, no see."

"I really missed seeing you. I don't believe it myself, but I was kept underground by Chris while some lookalike was ruining my life. I'd never do or say the things he did. I mean, how can people possibly believe that was me?" His voice was teetering on hysterical.

Trent checked his watch. "Five o'clock. I promise I'll be here every day at five to talk to you. Always remember that I love you." Trent kissed his mother on her forehead.

* * *

"_I never did find out where my parents moved to, so I checked into a hotel. Thankfully, I'd made enough with my trucking job to afford living there. Of course, that wasn't going to last."_

The parking lot of Sobey's. Jammed with cars...and loose shopping carts. Trent saw two of them gathered inbetween two cars. With a sharp gust of wind in either direction, at least one car would be short a headlight.

Trent shook his head and gathered the carts. He glanced across the lot. There were four carts scattered between cars. He rolled his eyes as he dragged the two carts along.

"_Impressive."_ Trent turned around. A well-dressed African-American man approached him.

"Well, I just didn't think that there should be so many carts just sitting around."

"You know, we just had an opening. Would you like to get paid for this?"

Trent's eyes lit up.

"_And I've had that job ever since. It's been pretty nice. It helps pay for college."_

* * *

Gwen and Trent were sitting in a booth at a diner. In front of her was a plate of pancakes. Trent, meanwhile, nursed a cup of coffee.

"Why didn't you tell me any of this earlier?"

"We had just gotten back together and I was trying to not sound crazy. How does 'oh, by the way, I was locked in a bunker because Chris thought I was too boring and he replaced me with a crazy lookalike' achieve that goal?"

"Good point. Well, you certainly have a lawsuit against Chris, right?"

"I checked with one of my dad's lawyer pals. He went over every inch of the show contract. I wasn't injured or killed and, at least, with that fake around, no one could prove that I wasn't gone."

"What about the underground room?"

"Buried. I went back to it a few months after I got out. Completely gone."

"What are you going to do about this?"

Trent shook his head. "I don't know, but I'm doing something."


	11. Re-appraising priorities

Toronto General. Gwen hadn't been here very often in her life; just to say goodbye to people (like her grandparents and her father) or hello (her brother Jeremy).

She was apprehensive about being here now, something that Trent could see clearly. He took her hand. "You don't have to go in, you know."

"I feel like I should, though. After all the crap I gave you about wanting to see your parents..."

Trent put his hand up. "It's okay."

"I need to do this." Gwen opened the door of room three-sixteen. She was just as put off by the oversanitized aroma as Trent was when he first came here.

Gwen waved tentatively. "Hello, Mrs. Van Horn." The woman, once a vivacious brunette, lied silently in bed, her somewhat frail body making no movements.

"Trent told me everything. I should've known that Trent wasn't really like that." Gwen glanced away guiltily. "I should've always known."

"I'm sorry I didn't get to meet you sooner. Trent and I...we got on pretty well on 'Total Drama Island'. He's funny, sweet, smart…" She exhaled.

"I really hope you wake up soon. Trent and I love you." Gwen wiped away tears. She slowly made her way out of the room.

Trent put his arm around her. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Would you excuse me a minute?" Gwen took Trent's arm and undraped it from her body. "I just need some air."

"No problem."

Trent watched Gwen hurry for the elevator. She mashed the down button.

* * *

The hospital had strict rules about cell phone usage. As the technology could aversely interfere with the hospital's machinery, all calls had to be made outside.

Gwen was very cold but, as she pulled out her phone, she knew that this is one of the most important calls she'd ever made. Her finger found the first name in her contacts.

"_Hello?"_

Gwen gasp-smiled. "Hi, Mom."

"_Hello, sweetie. How are you? You get back safe?"_

"Yes. Mom, I just want to tell you something."

"_Oh, what is it?"_

"I love you."

"_I love you, too."_

"No, Mom. I love you. I may not say it enough and I may not show it enough, but I do."

"_Gwen, is everything all right?"_ By now, concern coated Pauline's every word.

"Everything's fine. I promise. I haven't been knocked up or arrested or caught holding or anything you might be thinking."

"_Thank you for narrowing it down."_

"Mom!"

"_Yes?"_

"I love you."

"_I love you, too."_

"I'll call again, soon." Gwen pocketed her phone. She turned and ran right into Trent. "Oh, Trent. I'm so sorry. I…"

"Don't sweat it. If the situations were reversed - God forbid - I'd call my mom, too. Hell, I'd have been suspicious if you _didn't_ call her."

"I just didn't want to rub it in."

"You're not. Trust me." Trent took Gwen's hand and kissed it. "So...Pizza Pizza?"

She smiled a little. "Sounds good."

* * *

_**One week later…**_

Ah, the beauty of success. One could get all kinds of things with it: money, power, office space and a collection of underlings to boss around. Yep, Chris McLean had it all.

"Marnie, any messages?"

The girl looked to be fresh out of college...mainly because she was. Her glasses said 'nerd', but her smile said 'cutie'. "Nothing yet, Mr. McLean."

"You let me know, okay?"

"Yes, sir." As Marnie sat at her desk, the nervous intern approached her. "Hello, Greg."

"He's not doing anything important, is he?"

Marnie checked through Chris's still-charging phone. "I don't think so. Not for another couple hours."

Greg rubbed the back of his head. "Good. It shouldn't take that long." He stepped toward Chris's office, attempting to put some confidence in his stride.

He knocked on the door.

"Greg?"

"Yes."

"Come on in. Close the door." Greg did so and took a seat in front of Chris's desk. "So, what's up?"

"Well, I've been glancing over some of the submissions for the new 'Total Drama'."

Chris nodded. "Good, good."

"Not entirely. I'm a little concerned about one of the contestants."

"No worries."

"No. A big worry. He has multiple personalities."

Chris shrugged. "And?"

"One of the personalities is thought to be a psychotic killer!"

Another blithe stare. "And?"

"I'm worried about the safety of the other contestants."

Chris shook his head. "Did you forget what show you were interning on?"

"I think having him on would be a grave mistake."

Chris stood up and began to pace around Greg. "Or it could give us the highest ratings we've ever seen. Think about it: every episode, people will watch, wondering 'that crazy guy, when's he gonna snap?'."

"But what about the lawsuits?"

"Easily taken care of."

Greg couldn't believe what he was hearing. It was one thing to make it seem like a contestant was crazy, but dealing with a genuinely disturbed individual was beyond the pale. "I'm sorry, but I don't think I can carry on here."

"What are you saying?"

"No offense, but I think you're a little out of line here."

The smile barely slipped from Chris's face. "Well, I must say that I admire your candor, Greg. If there's anything I can do about this, you'll be sure to know in the next ten minutes."

"Thank you, Chris."

"Anytime. What good is having a staff without a free exchange of ideas?"

Greg stood up and walked for the door. He turned around before leaving. "This means a lot to me."

Chris waved his hand; 'it's nothing'. The door closed. Chris frowned as he threw it open.

He turned to his assistant. "Marnie?"

"Yes, Mr. McLean?"

"Greg seems a little stressed out. I think he needs to take a vacation."

"Oh. I mean, he just got back from the holidays, but fine. When's he coming back?"

Chris put his hands up. "Whoa, whoa. I never said all that."

Marnie's eyes goggled. "He's fired?"

Chris pointed. "Hey! Got it in one!"

"B-bb-but…"

Chris put his hands on her shoulders. "Don't worry. It's not my fault he doesn't have the stomach for this work any more than it's yours."

"But it's his birthday!"

"Oh, right. Thanks. Make sure he doesn't get any cake. Cake is for winners."

Marnie frowned at the situation. She groaned as she picked up the phone. "Greg. Code 9."

* * *

Trent loaded the last loaf of bread onto the shelves. It was another half hour before he had to leave and there were more than enough cashiers. May as well keep busy.

At the end of the aisle, he saw two teenage girls. They were both reading the same magazine on their phones.

"Man, I can't wait for the next 'Total Drama'."

"I know. Who do you think is the cutest guy?"

"I'm not going first. You go first."

"Why do I have to go first? You afraid we won't have the same favorite?"

"Okay. Cutest guy on three."

"One…"

"Two…"

"Justin!"

"Alejandro!"

"Seriously? Justin's just a boring pretty boy."

"And what about Alejandro? He's a schemer. Remember what he did to Heather?"

"First of all, she had it coming and second, you so want him to do that to you."

"Not even! What about Trent? He was cute."

Trent couldn't help but smile at hearing the approbation.

"Yeah. He _was_ cute, until he went crazy."

Trent took a step forward to correct her...then retreated. It just wasn't worth it. Teenage girl minds were just that susceptible to the show's manipulation. It was something he had to face.

* * *

Greg carried a box of personal belongings down the hallway. Two years and this is what he had to show for it.

He walked past the breakroom where everyone was gathered. A 24 x 18 sheet cake had been brought in and everyone was enjoying it.

"Mmmmm. Chocolate buttercream frosting and yellow cake. Is there a more perfect match?"

Greg groaned as he continued his walk of shame. He practically punched the 'down' button on the escalator.

Marnie peeked her head out the breakroom door and stared sadly.

* * *

DING!

Greg stepped off of the elevator, looking more glum with each passing second.

"_Wait."_

Greg spun around. "What?" Marnie ran up to him.

She handed him a chunk of cake wrapped in Saran wrap. Greg smiled. "Happy birthday."

"Thanks. You better get back up there. Wouldn't want both of us to lose jobs today."

"Take care of yourself, out there." Marnie kissed Greg on the cheek.

He walked away, smiling. Suddenly, he turned back around. "Was that a 'good luck' kiss or an 'I love you' kiss?"

Marnie shrugged. "Take your pick."

Greg forcefully walked back to her. He dropped his box and grabbed her arms, kissing her on the lips. "That wasn't 'good luck'."

Marnie straightened her glasses and ran back to the elevator, giggling all the way.

* * *

Marnie hastily licked the frosting from her fingers as she returned to the break room. She took her place in the back of the crowd.

"Okay, for those people who still work here, I'll need you for a top-secret project later this week. If even a word gets out, heads will roll." The crowd laughed. "What's so funny?" That shut them right up. "Now, back to work!" The workers scattered like roaches having been exposed to light.

Chris grinned at the chaos. Life was good.


	12. Invitation only

"And cut!"

The latest episode of "Pascal High" had wrapped shooting for the day. The actors dispersed and checked their cell phones.

Vicky sat in a director's chair, her phone practically glued to her ear. "...yeah, she's good. Very talented….still in school? I think so." Vicky nodded her head. "Okay. I figured you could work around that. Sounds good. See you later."

Vicky pocketed her phone and marched with purpose off the set.

* * *

In the ladies' washroom, Gwen washed her hands. She took a look in the mirror and ran her fingers through her hair. She'd restored the teal streaks to her dark mane, though she smiled at remembering Trent's comments about how he liked it that way.

She grabbed a couple of paper towels from the dispenser and dried her hands.

She stepped out of the bathroom and right into Vicky. "Oh, Vicky. I'm sorry."

"That's okay, Gwen. In fact, you're just the person I wanted to see."

"What about?"

"Do you know Mollie Atkinson?"

Gwen thought it over. "...no. Should I?"

"Me and her went to school together. She's a big-time movie costume designer. Won...three Oscars, I think."

"That's nice."

"It's more than that. Her next assignment is some superhero movie. You'd think people would be tired of those, by now. It's shooting in Toronto in a couple months and it just so happens that she needs an apprentice designer."

Vicky's words sunk in for Gwen. She started to smile. "Me?"

"You."

Gwen laughed a little. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. Now, do you have those designs for next week?"

The younger woman blanched. "They're half-done."

"Well, I'm gonna need them to be more than that before you go."

"I'll get right on that." Gwen fast-walked away.

* * *

Tim Hortons at night. Pretty crowded, as one would expect. Students wanting one last latte before studying for the next day's exam or just people needing to grab a bite.

Given the blueberry muffins and hot chocolates before each of them, Gwen and Trent were here for the latter.

"I didn't tell you my big news."

"What's that?"

"Our professor is letting us create our own screening nights at that TIFF Bell Lightbox theater downtown. Two students each get a night per week and we can show what we want. Well, he said no porn, torture or traditional, but I'm excited."

Gwen scooped up some whipped cream with her finger "Any idea what your screening will consist of?"

"I don't know yet. I'm so jazzed."

"Well, I don't mean to step on your moment, but I've got pretty big news of my own."

Trent took a sip of cocoa. "Cool. What is it?"

Gwen took a breath before she spoke. "I might be doing costumes for a Hollywood movie."

"That's awesome."

"It's not really set in stone. I'd be doing it in summer and I've still got to stay on Vicky's good side, but fingers crossed." Gwen made the gesture.

"We need to celebrate." Trent thought it over. "I've got it." He snatched Gwen's half-muffin before she could eat it. "Don't eat anything for the next three days, 'cause we're going to Swiss Chalet. We're ordering the whole menu."

Gwen grabbed her half-muffin back. "That's really sweet, but I don't want to jinx it."

Trent shrugged. "Okay. Fine. We are celebrating this, though."

"Sounds good to me." Gwen took a bite.

* * *

"And that'll be eleven seventy-five."

The young woman handed Trent two five-dollar bills and a two-dollar coin. He rang it up and gave her back a quarter.

"Thank you."

"Thank you, Miss, for shopping at Sobey's. Have a nice day." The woman smiled as she carried her bag off and walked away. "Find everything you were looking...for?"

Trent stared at his next customer. He was a young man with dark hair falling in his face. Trent had encountered him before. It was only for a second, but he'd remember it.

His mind flashed back to that day on the set of 'Total Drama Action'. One of the interns who'd gotten out of Trent's way...was back in his path.

"Can I help you, sir?" The emotion drained from Trent's voice.

"Yeah." The intern set a six-pack of beer on the conveyor belt. "Any chance you could double bag it?"

Trent ran the beer over the scanner. "Certainly, sir." He placed the sixer in a plastic bag, then placed that one in another bag. "So, it's been a long time."

The intern checked his phone. "What has?"

"Don't you recognize me?"

The intern stared intently at Trent. He looked in his eyes and glanced over his name tag. "Should I?"

'He really doesn't know who I am?', Trent thought to himself in amazement. "No. I guess not. That'll be four eighty-nine."

Trent glanced on as the intern emptied his satchel. He dropped keys, old receipts, a couple of parking tickets and a purple envelope.

The mailing address didn't interest him as much as the name in the return address did: Chris McLean. Trent's eyes narrowed as he saw it.

The intern dug out a five-dollar bill and handed it to Trent. "Don't worry about the change." His phone started to buzz. "Hello? Yeah. Yeah. I'm taking care of it. Yes. Goodbye." The intern hung up.

"Girlfriend?"

"Boss. He can be so demanding. 'Get me this! Do that! I don't pay you to stand around!'." It was a near-perfect imitation of Chris.

The envelope slid across the conveyor belt, unnoticed by its owner. Trent stealthily set it aside when it came to him. "Your boss, if you don't mind my saying, sounds like a major-league asshole."

The intern laughed. "You don't know the half of it!"

"I could imagine." Trent handed the intern his beer. "Have a nice day, sir, and thank you for shopping at Sobey's."

"Uh-huh." The intern high-tailed it out of there.

Trent turned around and glanced toward an issue of Cosmopolitan next to the envelope. His mind floated several possibilities, but if Chris was involved, none of them could be good.

"_Excuse me!"_

Trent's attention was commanded by the return of the intern, who looked frantic.

"Yes, sir?"

"Did you see a purple envelope anywhere?"

Trent thought for a bit. "You know, I actually did not."

"I don't know. Maybe, I left it in the car."

"Maybe. Could've fallen between the seat and the armrest. I hate when that happens. Hope you find it."

The intern hurried off, upset.

Trent turned the magazine around. He slid it toward the invitation, catching it in-between the pages. He turned toward the two elderly men waiting in his line.

"As soon as I get these next customers, I'm taking my break." Trent glanced toward the magazine, one thought cycling through his mind: 'What are you up to now, McLean?'.


	13. Thief of hearts

Another Monday at Humber. However, this one was special. It was the day before Valentine's Day. The culmination of that special time of year when all manner of heart-themed decorum assaults the eyes.

Sadly, not even Tim Horton's was immune to this sickness. Red velvet muffins with vanilla frosting. Cookies with pink icing. Strawberry lattes...

All of which were currently in front of Trent and Gwen. Hey. Never turn your nose up at a deal.

She shook her head. "No way!"

"You really don't want to do anything for Valentine's Day?"

"You misunderstood me. Sure, I want us to do something for Valentine's Day, as long as we don't have to do it in public."

Trent arched an eyebrow. "Don't want to lose your rep?"

"No. I mean, why should we rub our relationship in the faces of people who don't have one?"

Trent started to say something, but closed his mouth, feeling that a nerve was plucked. "Good point." He broke his muffin in half. "Still, one of my classmates had a pretty good double feature planned for that night."

"No, Trent."

"It's worth extra credit if we show up."

"Not a chance."

"It was really good, too. Miranda's going to be showing _Hitch_ and _Failure to Launch_. It's the 'What Kind of Bullshit Job is That?' rom-com double feature."

Gwen waved it off. "Thanks, but no."

"Fine. Maybe, stay in and...do something?"

"Sounds good. One of the movie channels is showing the _Evil Dead_ trilogy. How often does that happen?"

"Cool. Can't wait."

Gwen finished off her muffin. The sweetness of the pastry threw her off a little, initially, but she grew to like it. "Tell you this much: I don't think I'll have trouble staying awake for my classes this week."

* * *

Trent was one of thirty students in his film discussion class. He sat in the middle, not unlike his favored seat in a movie theater. In either case, he liked to be immersed in this wonderful experience.

Professor Levi was well-renowned on the local film scene, having made quite a few experimental films. He clapped his hands. "So, Oscars. Who you got?"

"_Moneyball_", exclaimed a bespectacled geek a row down from Trent.

"_Hugo_", proclaimed a girl in the corner who looked a little too youthful for college.

From the back, a know-it-all raised his voice. "_Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close_." A mild chorus of groans went up in response. "What? What's wrong with it?"

A Goth girl in the front row turned around. "You want a list? A boring drama set against the backdrop of 9/11 and the kid is named Oskar! Why doesn't the director just come to my house and punch me in the face?" The girl received a high-five from the guy next to her, an arty type with glasses.

Trent glanced up from his notes. "What about _The Artist_?"

"The black and white silent film?" The know-it-all shook his head.

"Hollywood loves movies about itself. You never know."

A stoner in the upper berth banged on his books. "I'm just pissed that _Girl with the Dragon Tattoo_ got snubbed."

The Goth girl fumed. "Join the club."

The professor paced around. "Me, I'm rooting for _Tree of Life_. Terence Malick, Sean Penn, Brad Pitt. You can't go wrong." The class murmured amongst themselves. "Now, on the heels of Tuesday's screening, let's hear from Rory."

A spindly geek waved slightly. "Hey. Now, who here loves film scores?"

Most of the students raised their hands. Trent raised his hand as well, even though he wasn't much of a collector. Sure, he (once) had the basics: _Superman_, _Jaws_, Shore's _Lord of the Rings_ trilogy, but it was rare that a film score really caught his ear.

"Now, how many of you are familiar with an instrument called the Ondes martenot?"

Nearly every hand went down. Confused murmurs went up.

"Well, it's an electronic instrument that was invented in France in 1928. It was popularized in the scores of Maurice Jarre and especially Elmer Bernstein. Saturday night, I'll be screening _The Black Cauldron_, _Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome_ and _Ghostbusters_."

The room went up in scattered groans. "Don't be too upset if you wanted _Ghostbusters_. There are thousands of movies to choose from." Besides the 'no porn' proviso, Professor Levi laid down another rule: if a student laid claim to a movie, it couldn't be used by anyone else that semester.

Trent exhaled. He had _Ghostbusters_ in the back of his head, but that wasn't happening anymore.

* * *

The quad was a good place to get some studying done, hang out with friends or just have some lunch.

Trent was chowing down on a taco salad in a tortilla bowl. He glanced up to see a group of freshmen hefting a giant teddy bear into the dining area. 'Must be pledges', Trent mused to himself. This was but one of a laundry list of reasons why the fraternity life wasn't for him.

They carried the plush toward a blonde girl chatting with friends at a table. The pledges seemed to be buckling under the strain, from the looks of it.

Trent shook his head as he returned to his meal. He didn't think he could humiliate Gwen in such a manner.

He glanced toward the line, where a bookish brunette in glasses brought her tray to the register.

Just as she pulled out her wallet, an equally bookish young man handed the cashier a ten-dollar bill.

The girl rolled her eyes in irritation as the boy smiled at her.

Trent broke off a piece of bowl off and popped it in his mouth.

* * *

Gwen opened the window on her laptop, a smile on her face.

From her tiny screen, Bridgette stared, taken aback. "Well, aren't we happy today?"

"Yeah. I managed to convince Trent not to do anything too big for Valentine's."

"Good for you?"

"You have anything planned?"

A smaller window opened on the screen. Leshawna waved. "Hey, girls. I miss anything good?"

"Apparently, Gwen and Trent are staying in for Valentine's tomorrow."

"That's good. Harold and I are going out for dinner."

"Where to?", Bridgette inquired.

"Swiss Chalet. We're doin' it up right!"

"Trent wanted to take me there to celebrate."

"Celebrate what?"

"Well, I might be apprenticing on a movie."

Leshawna shrugged. "You should've let him. Probably could've held out for a multi-course meal."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"Bridgette, what are you doing with party boy?"

"Well, Geoff and I are going to the movies. We're seeing that one with the girl from _The Notebook_ and the guy from _Step Up_."

Gwen couldn't help but snort. "The one where the girl has amnesia? That's so cheesy."

"Yeah, but it's the thought that counts."

* * *

Trent made his way across the campus. It was still pretty cold, but thankfully, it wasn't snowing. It's always hard to walk in the snow, especially if you're in a hurry.

His phone started to buzz. He answered it. "Hello?"

_"Is this Trent Van Horn?"_

"Yeah." Trent rolled his eyes a little. They called his phone. Why wouldn't it be him?

_"This is the triage nurse at Toronto General. We have some news about your mother, Annette."_

This stopped Trent in his tracks. "What is it?" Those three words carried every possible hope that his mother had awoken from her coma, that she was asking for her son and that she was on the road to full recovery.

_"We've lost her."_

Trent's eyes went wide. The phone slipped from his hand. He started to shake. His breathing started to quicken. He sunk to the ground.

_"We don't know how it happened. One minute, she was here and the next, she wasn't. We'll do everything we can to assist...hello? Are you there?"_

* * *

Trent sat in the driver's seat of his car. His reasoning: he wasn't sure if his roommate was in the dorm room and he was closer to his car.

The windows were covered up, allowing Trent to cry as much as he wanted without interruption. He would be doing quite a bit for the next hour.


	14. Elegy written in a college dorm

A nurse with light brown hair turned to her male nurse colleague. "Good God, that was a long shift."

He shrugged. "But it's over now, though."

"Yeah, I guess. I just wish this place wasn't so damn stressful."

"Then you probably shouldn't have become a nurse." He put his hands up to fend off her arm punch. He turned into the locker room and flipped on the light switch. "What the…"

The room looked like it was struck by a hurricane. Hangers on the floor, lockers thrown open, belongings scattered about.

The woman flipped through the coats that were hanging up. "Have you seen my winter coat?"

"It's not hanging up?"

"It was, but now, it's gone…" She turned toward her locker and found it turned inside out. "...and so are my mittens!"

"Where are my boots?"

She put her hands on her hips. "The ones small enough for a woman?"

"Yes, the ones small enough for a woman!", he repeated in a mocking tone.

* * *

"I'm going to class. See you later." Trent's roommate, whose name he couldn't be bothered to even mumble goodbye to, disappeared behind the dorm room door.

Trent had been lying in bed since eight o'clock last night. All he wanted was to crawl into a hole and pull it in after him.

The enormity of the situation weighed on him. Except for some distant relatives - the bridges to whom were no doubt scorched by his doppleganger's capering - Trent had no family left.

He didn't even think he'd be up to eating, at least until- Trent's eyes popped open. He was going to meet Gwen tonight.

He put a hand to his head. He groaned at how grief had upended his schedule.

Trent swung his legs out from under the covers. He was going to have to get up sooner or later. He staggered to the bathroom and turned on the light.

He recoiled. His eyes were red from crying so much. As he took some of his roommate's eyedrops from the medicine cabinet, he reflected on how glad he was to hide his emotional state from the other students.

No doubt, some of them would jump to the (moronic) conclusion that his crying was related to the number nine. He couldn't help but think that, given some of what he's read online about himself, this generation was impervious to things like pain and empathy and remorse.

'It's a good thing I have the day off', Trent thought to himself. He took a look at himself in the mirror. He looked much better than he did.

Trent threw a shirt on and grabbed some pants. If he was fast, he could still catch breakfast in the quad.

His phone buzzed. Clearly, he forgot to turn it off last night; how could he be in any shape to take phone calls? He grabbed it. "Hello?"

_"Trent, it's Leonard."_ Trent stopped in his tracks. If his boss was calling, it was for one reason.

"What's up?", Trent said tentatively. He hoped deeply that there was a new reason in the cards.

_"Sandy and Lucian called off. It's that bug that's going around. Her shift has been covered, but you're gonna have to cover his."_

"How long is Lucian's shift?"

_"Twelve to eight-thirty."_

Trent gnashed his teeth. He was supposed to meet Gwen at six-thirty. "I don't know if I can. I mean, my Mom passed away."

_"I'm sorry to hear that, Trent."_ The young man knew that his boss sincerely meant the comment. _"I wouldn't ask, but these are tight circumstances. I can give you an extra dollar an hour."_

Trent mulled it over. "Two dollars."

_"Dollar-fifty."_

He sighed. "Okay."

_"Good. See you at noon."_ Trent hung up. Much as it pained him to stand Gwen up, he didn't want to risk his job. Plus, the extra money could come in handy.

* * *

Trent sat in a chair in the Sobey's breakroom. It was his last break and he was deeply grateful for it. In addition to cashing out, he'd also been lifting boxes for various departments.

He grimaced at his phone. Of course, he'd forget to charge it before he left. He slammed it down on the table. He could only wonder how Gwen was feeling right now.

* * *

A bowl of microwave popcorn. A big bag of Smarties. A six-pack of 355 milliliter bottles of root beer from The Pop Shoppe. A television tuned to _The Evil Dead_ (just after the scene where one of the girls had an unfortunate encounter with a tree).

In Gwen's eyes, the only thing that would make this night better is to have someone with whom to share all of this with.

She thought she had that. She picked up her phone. No new messages. No ringtone. No nothing.

'I'm gonna kill him', she said to herself, stuffing a handful of popcorn into her mouth.

* * *

Trent drove back to Humber. All he wanted to do was climb into bed and sleep. The only good thing about a grueling work day like the one he just had is that, at some point, it ends.

He mentally went over his to-do list for the next day: go to class, visit Gwen, apologize a thousand times, treat her to some discounted, post-Valentine's chocolate, arrange his mother's funeral. The order of those items would have to finalized between now and tomorrow morning, though.

* * *

Trent pulled his car into the parking lot and huddled his coat close as he made his way across the parking lot. It seemed to be a lot colder than usual.

Not wanting to read too much into the change in temperature, he opened the door of his dorm and got on the elevator.

* * *

Trent trudged down the hallway toward his room. As he drew closer, he saw a sock wrapped around the door knob. This puzzled him, as his roommate seemed to be the prototypical Nice Guy; no way would he have a girl here.

Trent rapped on the door. No answer. He turned the handle...and was surprised to find the door unlocked. He slowly went inside.

"Hello?"

Trent closed the door behind him. He flipped on the light switch. Sitting on his bed was a figure in a hooded winter coat with small boots and mittens. Trent backed away slowly from the figure.

"Why are you backing away from me? I thought I raised you better than that."

Trent stopped and gaped at the intruder. It was a little strained and hoarse, but he knew that voice.

"Mom?" His own voice nearly gave out.

Annette pulled the gloves off with her teeth. She removed the hood and smoothed her hair out. "Sorry I didn't have time to put my face on."

"How did you get here?"

"I took a cab."

"They brought you here for free?"

She tried to kick off her boots. Thinking quickly, Trent slid to her side and removed them. "Much like my winter gear, I had to borrow-slash-steal some money, though given some of what those nurses say about you whenever you left, I'd like to think of it as poetic justice. I mean, how could they not know that coma patients hear everything?" She motioned to the forearm crutches next to her. "Though maneuvering on my legs wasn't the easiest task."

"The hospital told me they lost you. I honestly thought you were dead."

As best as she could, Annette ran her hand along Trent's face. "Think about it, dear. They lost me like they'd lose car keys. I was still around."

"Why did you come here?"

"We both know that I don't have a lot of time left-" Trent put his finger on Annette's lips.

"Don't you say that."

"You may not want to believe that. I'm just amazed that I've lasted this long." She extended her arm as best as she could. "Just grab my hand. I'll be right here." Trent smiled a little as he complied with her words.

"How'd you even get in here?"

"Your roommate returned for some reason; a book or something. I knew I had to act quickly. As he left, I hobbled toward the door, stuck the crutch out before it closed. I got in. No one even noticed me go in. I hadn't eaten anything in a while. Thank goodness for that bottle of iced tea."

Trent hugged his mother. "Oh, it is so good hearing your voice. I just wish Dad were here."

"Me too, son."

"Is there anything I can get for you? Blanket, something to eat?"

"A cup of tea?"

"I'll see what I can do." With a speed that impressed even his mother, Trent ran out of the room and down the hall.

* * *

Annette held the Dixie cup of tea to her mouth and cautiously sipped it. She always had tea following a stressful situation.

Trent still seemed to be out of breath; the school store was just about to close when he got there.

"Trent, I know you told me what had happened to you, but I still can't believe it. I mean, I knew those reality shows weren't on the up and up, but what happened to you is tantamount to false imprisonment. You have a real suit against these people."

"I should get that taken care of, huh?"

"Absolutely. Your father and I have a list of colleagues. Any of them will help out."

"Where do I find this list?"

"Last I remember...on top of the dresser in our bedroom."

"In your new home?"

"Yes."

"I was so upset when I got home and it was empty."

"Well, after the show, the...lookalike visited us. Patrick was upset with him, but I just knew that something wasn't right about him. It looked like you, it talked like you, but I knew it wasn't you." Annette caressed Trent's face. "It was like that movie, _Invasion of the Body Snatchers_." Trent smiled as he kissed the woman's forehead; 'This is my mother, all right', he thought. "I didn't dare say anything while he was there. Who knows what he'd have done? After he left, I insisted that we move."

"I knew you moved because of him. I goddamn knew it!"

"Trent, language."

"I'm sorry, Mom." Trent sighed. "I probably should've looked for you through the internet."

"Your father and I weren't online."

"Well, maybe through one of your friends, business partners, somebody-"

"That doesn't matter now. It's in the past. What matters is the future. Justice, your education…" A sly smile crept onto Annette's face. "...marriage. That Gwen is a really sweet girl. I'm glad you brought her by."

"So am I."

"I just can't believe she was dating that punk."

"Like you said, 'it's in the past'."

"Indeed, I did."

Trent jerked a thumb toward the door. "By the way, what was with the sock on the door?"

"Did you forget that I went to college too? A sock on the door, your roommate is with someone, so get lost. I put it on so your roommate wouldn't be weirded out by the old lady on crutches."

Trent laughed a little. "Good thinking. You know, I really missed talking to you...and having you talk back."

"It's just good to talk to someone."

"So, where is the new house?"

"168 Caines Avenue in North York, Willowdale. There's a key under the welcome mat."

"Good to know."

"Maybe you can take Gwen up there one day. Trent, I want to ask you something."

"Go ahead."

"Does Gwen make you happy?"

Trent smiled deeply. "She makes me very happy."

Annette returned the smile. "That's really all I needed to know." Little by little, her smile slipped away. She fell backward onto the bed.

"Mom. Mom! Please, no! Mom!" Trent cradled the woman, fresh tears forming in his eyes. He checked her wrist pulse. He shook his head. "Mom…" Trent picked up his phone. He inwardly groaned; no juice. He scurried toward the electrical outlet next to his bed and plugged in the adapter. The jack went into his phone. 9-1-1 had never been dialed faster by anyone in the history of Humber College.

* * *

The paramedic loaded Annette's body onto a stretcher. Trent glanced toward his phone, still silently charging on his nightstand.

He turned his attention toward his mother. He shook his head slightly, unable to accept that she was really gone.

"Any particular reason you broke your mom out of the hospital?"

"I didn't break her out. She came here of her own free will."

The paramedic shook his head as he prepared to push the stretcher out. "Nine-obsessed freak." Though he made the insult under his breath, it was loud enough for Trent to impede his path.

"I'm sorry. Must've been my bad ear. Would you care to repeat that?" Trent's clenched tone of voice packed a lot of anger into those last six words. "I think it would behoove you to get my mother back to the hospital." In spite of Trent's anger, he restrained himself from adding 'or there are gonna be two corpses in this room tonight', but Trent was thinking it and the panicked expression on the paramedic's face suggested that he sensed it.

He raced the stretcher down the hall past the curious dormmates awakened by Trent's cries.

* * *

Trent had been in the rear stacks of the library for the last half-hour. He'd tried to put on a brave face, if not for himself, than for his mother. However, memories of her kept coming back and he just couldn't hold it in. Advanced PoliSci would have to wait.

Gwen spotted him on the way to her first class - Creative Writing - and trailed him, upset.

She came upon him, crouched down in the back. All he could do was look up at her with red-rimmed eyes.

Trent slowly but surely stood to his feet. His voice shook as he explained everything that happened.

Gwen covered her mouth, remorseful at what she assumed and deeply affected by what she had heard.

She hugged him and he returned the gesture, sobbing into her shoulder.


	15. Reassurance

Trent stared at himself in the mirror. He'd been sleepwalking through the week. There was very little that could rouse him from his depressed state.

A knock at the door briefly brought him back to life. "_Trent?"_ It was Gwen. She'd been so great the last few days, talking with him and trying to cheer him up.

Trent got up and opened the door. He forced himself to give her a half-smile. "You look great." Despite the lack of emotion behind the sentiment, it was genuine. Gwen wore a black dress and she'd even washed the highlights out of her hair.

"Thanks. We should probably get going."

Trent nodded weakly. "Yeah."

* * *

Mount Pleasant Cemetery. A lot of well-known people were buried here. Trent labored to make sure that his parents were buried next to each other.

He and Gwen sat amongst a number of middle-aged individuals. Trent only barely recognized them as associates of his parents.

A priest stood at the podium. "...and so, we commit Annette to the earth, her soul ascending to a far better place." Gwen clasped Trent's hand. "Now, we shall hear a few words from Annette's son, Trent."

Trent approached the podium. He took several deep breaths. "My mother...she was always there for me. Raising me, feeding me, believing in me." Another breath. "She valued my happiness even in her last moments. I will never forget that; her self-sacrificing nature." He tried to fight back the tears forming in his eyes. "I just...I wish I had more time with her...and cherished the time I had." Trent trudged back to his seat.

"Thank you, Trent. Now, would anyone else care to say anything?"

As the funeral went on, others would get up to speak. The overall tone of the remembrances was somber but appreciative. Trent was still in his funk, though.

* * *

The service had ended. Through the haze of tears, Trent saw people walking toward him. He wiped the tears from his eyes.

Meanwhile, Gwen stood at a distance looking uncomfortable. Despite her Goth leanings, she was very ill at ease in cemeteries, ever since her father died. The fact that she only knew one person at the funeral didn't make things any easier.

"Excuse me, Miss." Gwen turned suddenly. It was a woman who looked about Annette's age and had a veil to go with her black dress.

"Um...hi."

"How did you know Annette?"

Gwen tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, broadcasting her awkwardness. "To be honest, I didn't. Not as well as I'd have wanted. My boyfriend Trent, he's her son."

"Your boyfriend?"

"Yeah."

The woman shook her head. "Weren't you dating that punk kid?"

Gwen narrowed her eyes. "Back when I was young and stupid, yes."

"Hmmm. Well, it's nice of you to pay your respects. I worked with Annette on a few cases." She shook her head. "Best paralegal I've ever met."

Gwen nodded her head and turned toward Trent.

He was surrounded by Annette's co-workers and friends, all of whom offered handshakes and hugs.

Even though the many voices were talking over each other, Gwen could clearly hear one of them. "I'm so sorry for your loss."

Clearer than that, she registered and frowned at Trent's response. "Believe me: you're not the one who needs to apologize."

* * *

It had been another half-hour before Trent was ready to leave; almost as if he was saying the rest of what he wanted to say to her that Valentine's night.

Gwen walked him to his car. "You sure you're good to drive?"

"Yeah", he nodded.

"Okay, then." Being the last car in the lot allowed Trent a clear path out. His Epica peeled from the property.

"Lovely ceremony."

"Yes, it was."

"Even with that outburst?"

"What outburst?"

"'You're not the one who needs to apologize'."

Trent stared at Gwen. "Did you not hear my story?"

She shook her head indignantly. "Don't treat me like I'm stupid, Trent. I heard every word of that story."

"Yeah, so-"

"-Which is why I'm saying what I'm about to say: as much as I'd love to kick Chris' teeth down his throat, so the next time he takes a shit, he shits out his teeth, you can't let revenge rule your life."

"I'm not letting revenge rule my life."

"Name one thought you've had about Chris in the last year and a half that wasn't violent." Trent struggled to conceive of one, but he just couldn't...not that he was ready to concede defeat. "Well?"

"It takes time to collect my thoughts."

Gwen put a hand on his shoulder. "Trent?"

"Yes?"

"Why don't I stay with you tonight?"

"You mean like a date?"

"More like a...platonic sleepover. You need cheering up."

Trent chuckled. "I can think of a lot of ways to cheer me up."

"I'm sure we're at least a few years away from the ways you're thinking of."

* * *

A sock was once again on Trent's doorknob. His roommate had to hit the road. Luckily for him, he had a friend in study group whose own roommate liked to hit the town.

Trent had spent the last half-hour tidying up. Gwen would likely not have cared too much if the room were clean or dirty, but he had to be sure.

Just as he took a breather on his bed, there was a knock at the door. He hurried to open it, a big smile on his face. "Hey."

"Hey." Gwen waved a little as she stepped inside. She took a look around the room. "Don't tell me you got the place fixed up just for me."

"No. I'd been meaning to clean up."

"So you pick the night I come over?"

Trent shrugged like it was nothing. "Yeah."

Gwen rolled her eyes. "So, how are you feeling?"

"Better, now. Thanks for coming over." Trent peered behind Gwen and saw the purple envelope peeking out of the dresser. He spun around and closed it.

"What's that? Your dirty underwear?"

"First of all, ewww. And second, it's my dirty socks."

"Men. You know, your mom's not here to…" There was a sudden silence. Gwen kicked herself for even beginning that sentence.

She and Trent glanced at each other for what felt like an eternity. Gwen looked like she was going to throw up. Trent broke the verbal stalemate by clearing his throat.

Trent jerked his thumb toward the door. "How 'bout I grab us something to eat?"

"Eating sounds good. Talking is overrated." Gwen vomited out the words in one big chunk. Trent grabbed a coat and stepped out.

* * *

The time away had been good for Trent, he felt. As he waited in Pizza Pizza, he felt himself thinking, 'Maybe Gwen was right.' Did he really want to embark on this path of revenge? He had his education, his girl and his own life.

The strains of "I Wanna Be Famous" broke Trent out of his reverie. He glanced up at the television playing in the corner of the room. "Coming soon to your TV, the wildest 'Total Drama' yet! 'Total Drama: Revenge of the Island'. 13 contestants. One island. No rules."

"_Number 65! Number 65!"_

After the ad ended, Trent grabbed his pizza and left, his fist tight enough to make diamonds out of coal.

Revenge wasn't something Trent wanted. As far as he was concerned, it was something he needed.

* * *

The pizza in the box had been reduced to crusts. The cans of soda were just about empty.

Gwen licked her fingers. "Good call on the chipotle chicken."

"It smelled so good when I got in, I just had to buy it."

"Trent…"

He put his hand up and made a brush-off motion. "Forget it. Just a slip of the tongue."

"I...well, thank you, but not that. Thanks for having me over."

"Thanks for having my back through all of this."

"No problem." Gwen stretched out. "Well, I'm feeling a little tired. I'm getting ready for bed."

"Okay. You can change in the bathroom."

Gwen crept toward the dresser. She opened the drawer, just above the one with the envelope, and pulled out a black shirt. She disappeared behind the bathroom door.

Trent silently exhaled. Good thing she didn't see the envelope. The door opened. Trent suddenly expelled whatever breath he had left.

Gwen stood there in the door frame. On her body was his homemade 'Punisher' shirt, a pair of purple panties...and nothing else. "I take it you approve?" Trent had no response other than his eyes nearly falling out of his head. "I knew I smelled White-Out, but if it makes you happy…"

Trent forced out a word. "Yeah." Gwen sashayed toward the bed. "Not sure how this is supposed to be a platonic sleepover." Which, at this point, was thinly-veiled code for 'Not sure how this is supposed to kill my boner'.

"Just pretend my mom is sleeping down the hall."

"Still not sure how that helps."

Gwen threw a pillow at him.

* * *

It was about two-thirty. Gwen slept peacefully against Trent, trusting that he was too much of a gentleman - and racked with grief - to take advantage, like a lot of guys wouldn't be.

Trent glanced down at her in the darkness. He had asked about her headaches, but she seemed to be doing fine. She twitched a little in his arms. Maybe, she wasn't as 100% as she thought.

He still wasn't sure what he'd done to deserve a girl like her. Her smooth skin, her sweet-smelling hair, her pert figure, her lovely behind...that was exposed to viewers in that mountain-climbing stunt.

Trent's attitude changed to rancor. He fumed; the son of a bitch didn't even have the decency to edit that part out.

'Gwen'll be cool with some revenge. We both kinda want it', Trent thought to himself. 'But on the off chance she doesn't', he continued, his mind going to the envelope, 'it'd be better if I didn't look like me'.

* * *

A number of cars pulled up to the warehouse out in Scarborough. Out of them appeared a number of investors and high-brow fans who had stakes in the success of "Total Drama". Muckity-mucks, they were commonly called.

Trent's Epica pulled up near the middle. He was worried about bringing his own car, but shook it off; did Chris really know or care what kind of car he drove?

He got out. In addition to an old suit from a consignment store, the theater department had made him up well; slicked-back hair, wrinkles all around his face like he was a shirt that needed a good ironing and a thin, dark mustache. The people were a little ambivalent about helping him until he mentioned the work they did on Gwen's Halloween costume. After that, they rose to the occasion.

The guests, all brandishing their purple envelopes, made their way to the front door.

Trent, bringing up the rear, followed them in. They waited for a few moments before they saw a figure on the scaffolding. They all gazed in amusement, but Trent merely scoffed. 'He always liked making an entrance'.

"Hey, there! Who loves you and who do you love?" Chris topped off the statement with a theatrical florish.

"Chris!" He hurried down the stairs and stood before the assembly.

"Now, do you have your special invitations?" The guests all pulled them from their envelopes. "Awesome. You privileged few are going to see what very few people have: the secrets that help bring 'Total Drama' to life." The crowd clapped. Trent's applause was slower and more sarcastic. "One thing we must get out of the way first. Since some of the stuff I'm showing you here is of a...sensitive nature, I'm gonna have to ask you all to turn off your cell phones."

The guests all reached into their pockets and pressed the power buttons on their phones. They buzzed and beeped off in a weird kind of chorus. Trent simply slid his phone up his sleeve out of the sight of the others.

Chris clapped his hands. "Okay, now if there are no further issues, be sure to sign in the guestbook and we can get on with the tour."

The guests lined up to sign. After everyone else was finished, Trent signed hastily, slamming the pen down. Given Chris's warning, Trent couldn't wait to see what this tour had in store.


	16. Sending a message

The screening room in The Bloor Cinema was dark. The children were settled in, their parents next to them.

It might be hard to believe now in the days of CGI animals, pratfalls and fart jokes that there was once a time when movies ostensibly geared toward children weren't afraid of jolting the supposed audience out of their complacency; some scary, unsettling things could get seen by them.

Annette had seen the film before her in her teens on television and even then, she was unnerved by a particular part of the film. Therefore, she knew what to expect. She leaned over to her ten-year-old son. "If things get too scary, just grab my hand. I'll be right here", she whispered calmingly. It wasn't the first time she said it and it probably wouldn't be the last.

The boy smiled up at her. "Okay, mommy."

* * *

As he drove down the 401, Trent vividly recalled that day at the movies when his mother took him to see _Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory_: the catchiness of the songs, the personalities of the characters, the eye-filling sight of the chocolate room and how his popcorn didn't quite measure up and the creepiness of the tunnel sequence. He gripped his mother's hand extra tight that day.

Tears rolled down his cheeks at the realization that he wouldn't grab her hand ever again.

Trent wiped his eyes, his expression darkening at remembering the tour.

* * *

Chris led the group down the hall. Trent glared at him from the back. He stopped and pointed their attention to a giant curtain.

A woman stepped forward. "What's that curtain for?"

"Glad you asked." Chris yanked a rope, drawing the curtain back. The crowd gasped in amazement. Trent gaped in shock.

A giant glass window was gradually revealed. Behind it were two shelves. Each shelf contained replicas of the 'Total Drama' contestants encased in what amounted to oversized doll boxes. "Now, as you may or may not know, the contestants on 'Total Drama' were asked to do things that they wouldn't normally do. While shooting the first few episodes, we found that the contestants wouldn't do certain things for various reasons: offensive, religious, et cetera. That's where these babies come in handy."

Trent locked eyes with his robotic double. He scowled as he slipped his phone out of his sleeve. 'I don't care if they see me. I don't care if they arrest me. I'm filming this', he thought to himself as he mashed the 'camcorder' icon.

"These robotic doubles have come in handy so much these first three seasons."

A portly man with a bushy mustache jerked a thumb toward the display. "And have the other contestants ever suspected that these weren't real people?"

"Never. We feed them the basic information that the real people put on their application forms, as well as the stuff from their audition videos, high school permanent records, Facebook pages. Been pretty foolproof so far." The crowd laughed. "Also, for fun, the female doubles were given...alternate programs."

* * *

Trent shuddered at remembering what lewd acts each double was programmed with. One thing was certain, he thought to himself: 'Gwen would never know about it'.

He gasped. Gwen.

As far as Trent was concerned, it was one thing for Chris to screw with him, but screwing with Gwen…

* * *

An elderly woman in a wheelchair whispered in the ear of her statuesque nurse. "And did you use the doubles for 'World Tour'?"

"Just for Ezekiel. Still, there were some moments, like a certain Goth chick who didn't want to let go of her attraction to a certain fruitcake."

As much as Trent appreciated being in a crowd of people to obscure his guerrilla filmmaking, he desperately wished that there were no witnesses to what he wanted to do to Chris. The host/producer/scumbag would've been eating that glass for lunch.

A man with a pronounced Russian accent glanced at the doubles. "You mean Gwen?"

"Indeed. Nothing a little positive reinforcement couldn't cure. While she slept, we piped in a little mood music to...inspire her to give Duncan a chance. And if she resisted, well…" Chris tapped his skull. Trent's eyes widened. 'The headaches.'

The nurse stepped forward. "Did you do the same for Duncan?"

"Nah. He was just horny."

The Russian stared in surprise. "I'm amazed. I was in juvenile hall myself. Making move on another man's woman…". He mimed a knife in the gut. "...that get you shanked."

Chris led the group along. Seeing that the group was moving, Trent pocketed the phone. "Duncan had been dating Courtney, but she'd been kind of a pill for a while. Wanna guess how much of that was us?" The group shouted out percentages. "Surprisingly, not much. She'd always been a high-strung, type A perfectionist. All she needed was a bunch of harmless pushing." Trent seemed concerned. More often than not, Courtney was on the verge of a heart attack because of the stress she felt she was under. "It's an old psychological experiment: take someone who could use some loosening up and make things tighter, little by little."

"And if she had died?", the man with the mustache intoned.

"Need I direct your attention back to the doubles?"

The crowd murmured amongst themselves.

* * *

Trent grimaced at how far Chris had gone...and how much farther he could've gone.

He felt that, in some freakish way, Chris was a lot like Willy Wonka: a magnetic personality that invited a select handful of youths into his exciting if dangerous world...and a deranged individual who thought nothing of sacrificing the well-being of his charges. However, while Wonka had lessons to impart, Chris harmed them just because.

The light ahead of him turned red. Trent picked up his phone. He was still amazed that no one caught him filming and the juicy material he captured would make for a fascinating final chapter of 'Total Drama'.

_My life has changed drastically_

_and all of it because of he_

_Not one speck of remorse he feels_

_I'm forced to make him see_

_That I've got a Golden Ticket_

_He will be made to pay for what he's done_

_He will be made to pay for what he's done to me_

* * *

Trent sat in the break room at Sobey's, his eyes glued to his phone. This might well have been the 20th time he's seen the video front to back. He was still in disgusted awe how Chris and the show could do these things to him and his contestants without batting an eyelash.

Of course, this thing would have to go to the media, but Trent wanted someone else to see it first. He'd thought about showing it to one of his parents' lawyer friends, but that would bring up the question of how he got the footage in the first place...and he certainly wasn't invited to that exhibition.

Also, as he promised to himself on the ride back, there was no way he was showing this to Gwen. So, who would it go to?

Courtney might've been fascinated to know what was happening behind the scenes on the show, having her own dream team of lawyers and all. Trent decided against that; this would be one more thing to push her over the edge and possibly give her a heart attack.

As Trent paused the video file, a thought came to him: 'Maybe, I shouldn't show this to someone who gets heart attacks. Maybe...I should show it to someone who _causes_ them.'

* * *

Toronto Pearson Airport. If people travel into and out of the city, they'll likely pass through here.

One young woman pulled her wheeled suitcase through the crowds, half a latte in her free hand. Her flight was due to leave in twenty minutes and she was a good distance from her designated gate.

Knowing full well that a romantic comedy-style run through the terminal was out of the question, she chugged the remnants of her latte and tossed the cup in the trash.

Powered by caffeine and determination, she fast-walked through the crowd. Within moments, she saw her gate: 26A.

The young woman hurried to the back of the line of people boarding the plane. The attendant checked her ticket and took a good look at her.

"Weren't you on-"

"Yes, I was on 'Total Drama' for three seasons. Yes, I'm sure you hated my guts, but that's the way the game is played."

"Actually, I was gonna say 'Pascal High'."

The young woman was taken aback. "Oh. I haven't, but how good is that show?"

"It's alright." The attendant handed the ticket back. "Have a nice flight, Heather."

* * *

It took about an hour of delays on the runway, but the plane was in the air. Heather glanced out the window at the sky. It was nice to be on a flight on a regular plane that wasn't in danger of falling apart.

_"Attention. This is your captain speaking. We're traveling at an altitude of 33,000 feet. You are now free to use your mobile devices."_

As if in unison, nearly every passenger pulled out their phone and turned it on.

Heather decided to check her Facebook page. The stigma of being the girl everyone loved to hate had died down, whittling the messages on her page to pleasantries and silly shares from her followers, with the occasional nasty comment.

Her eyebrow raised at a private message. She opened it. It was a video. It started to play. So as not to disrupt the other passengers, she plugged in a pair of headphones.

Little by little, the look on Heather's face grew more and more horrified. She seethed at what she was seeing and (especially) hearing. She flagged down a flight attendant.

"Yes, Miss?"

"Do you have a glass?"

"Yes."

"I'm gonna need you to fill it with every drop of vodka you have on board."

The older (by about a decade) woman shook her head. "We don't have any liquor aboard."

Heather simply stared at the flight attendant. "Then can I get water and an aspirin?"

"Right away." She hurried off.

If Heather couldn't drink the pain of this video away, at least she'd have something for the headache it caused her. The moment she landed, she'd be having four-letter words with an attorney.


	17. Coming out party

_Why would you show this to me?_

_Because I get the feeling that you'd know just what to do with it._

_And how did you get this video?_

_Not important. I need you to delete these e-mails._

_And why is that?_

_I don't want anyone to know where the video came from._

_You shot it, didn't you? _

_Chris wouldn't play fair. Why should I?_

_I'm not forbidden from sharing this, am I?_

_Not in the slightest._

So went the one-line e-mails sent over the course of an hour and a half. (The time frame would've been smaller had Trent not needed to finish his shift.)

* * *

"_Oh, my God. Did you see that video?"_

"_How could they do that?"_

"_I used to love that show."_

No doubt about it: the video was a hot topic. At Humber. Around Toronto. Across Canada. All over the world. Within the last week, the number of views grew into the tens of millions. From Buzzfeed to Uproxx to the AV Club to TMZ, people couldn't stop snarking about it.

* * *

A group of students gathered around a television playing in the commons. 'Celebrity Manhunt' had just returned from a commercial break.

Blaineley stood on the stage. "The video that everyone is talking about. Too hot for TV, but not for us."

With the chryon 'Source: YouTube' beneath it, the clip of the robotic doubles played out. "_These robotic doubles have come in handy so much these three seasons."_

"Fresh TV has issued the following statement: 'We are currently looking into this disturbing situation. These alleged substitutions were, almost certainly, carried out without our knowledge or consent." The type on screen displayed next to an ominously photo negative Fresh TV logo.

"Chris McLean, host and producer of 'Total Drama', could not be reached for comment. Be sure to keep watching 'Celebrity Manhunt' for more on this incredible story."

* * *

Before the official start of class, the students in Film Discussion were usually chatting about what films they'd seen on television or in the theater or what they were inspired by in said films. Today, however…

"...couldn't believe what I heard…"

"...sick bastard…"

"...anyone see _Futureworld_?"

Professor Levi stepped in, doffing his coat and draping it on the back of his chair.

"Greetings and salutations. So, who do we have for this week's screening? Vivian?"

The Goth girl put her hand up half-heartedly. "Okay, since I couldn't use _Ghostbusters_…" She glared toward Rory. "...I had to get a little more creative. Richard Edlund's visual effects were quite prolific in the 1980s, so I'll be showing _Fright Night_ and _Poltergeist II: the Other Side_."

"Very interesting. Now, before we begin, I'm sure that you are all aware of a certain video that blew up in the last week. I think it's best if we get it out of the way now and not let it interrupt perfectly good class-"

"Man, if I were Chris McLean, I'd crawl into a hole and pull it in after me."

"How does one think they can get away with that?"

As the class continued to gab, Trent felt a hand on his shoulder. It was Glassman, the stoner. "So, that wasn't you going nutso in 'Total Drama Action'?"

"No, it wasn't."

"Man, I'd hate to think what I'd do if I was humiliated like that."

Trent shrugged. "Me, too."

* * *

The interns at Fresh TV couldn't take their eyes off of their phones. Granted, this wasn't terribly different from any other Wednesday, but they were, indeed, watching the video.

Though glancing at his phone, one intern sat close to Chris's office. His eyes darted away from it at hearing the door open.

He let out a whistle reminiscent of fireworks. With lightning speed, the interns pocketed and otherwise hid their phones and made a big show of working...or, at least, pretending to work.

Chris peeked his head out. A smile formed on his face. "I just want everyone to know that things are just fine around here. It's good to see so many of you working at a time like this." He turned toward Marnie. "I'm gonna be busy for the next hour. Hold my calls."

"Yes, sir." The interns waited intensely for the door to close. Once it did, they pulled out their phones and unpaused the video.

One intern leaned over to another. "So, what were you gonna do when you were done here?"

The other one shrugged. "I don't know. Big bro's comic book shop, I guess."

* * *

Chris scowled deeply as he sat at his desk. He picked up his phone, a list of names and numbers in his free hand.

"Esther Grant, please…" He nodded his head. "Mm-hmm. Well, she's in that iron lung 23 hours a day. What's a few minutes to answer some simple questions?"

"_Is this about that video?"_ It was the voice of the old woman's nurse.

"Yes."

"_I didn't shoot it and neither did she."_ Click. She hung up.

Chris angrily crossed out Grant's name and dialed the next number on the list.

* * *

Trent and Gwen sat in the quad, splitting a taco salad in a tortilla bowl. He broke off a piece of the bowl and dipped it in the meat.

"So, did you see that video?"

Trent shook his head in mock ignorance. "Video?"

"That 'behind the scenes of Total Drama' video."

"Yeah. Somebody forwarded it to me."

Gwen took a sip of her soda. "I knew Chris was a scumbag, but this...this is like something out of a movie."

"I wonder what'll happen to the show."

"Chris is probably wondering that, himself, but what he should be worrying about is how badly Heather and Courtney are gonna beat his ass."

"I'd think that Lindsay has pretty good cause, as well."

Gwen polished off the last of the salad. "Too true. But, bright side, maybe people will believe you now when you tell them that wasn't you in 'Total Drama Action'."

"That'd be good."

"And I can't believe that. Subliminally pushing me toward Duncan?"

"I know. All because he wanted to create 'drama'." Trent's Chris impression was pretty close.

"Oh, man. You sounded just like him just then."

Trent shuddered. "That's a scary thought." He grabbed his backpack and started to walk off. Gwen followed him.

"What I don't get is how he was able to move that stuff around without anyone noticing."

"Nice and quiet...probably the same way those 12 jackasses got invited."

Gwen stopped. "What did you say?"

"Those 12...or so jackasses that were on the tour."

"Trent, I've watched that video at least three times, and even though I threw up each time, I heard just a few voices. How did you know there were 12 people there?"

"I'm pretty sure someone mentioned it."

It took a few moments for her to put it together. "Were you there that day?!"

Trent hesitantly nodded. "Yeah."

"How?!"

"One of Chris' interns left an invitation in my checkout line and…"

"You took this video?"

"I did."

"And you saw what...you saw everything?"

He nodded. "Every lurid detail."

"Tell me something: did my double have an alternate program?"

Trent shook his head. "It was so long ago, I can't even remem-"

"If you lie to me, this is the last time you'll ever see me."

Trent exhaled in frustration. It was gonna come out, sooner or later. "HJ."

"What?" Trent formed a circle with his fingers and moved it up and down. Gwen's legs gave out underneath her. What little color there was in her face instantly drained away. "Oh, God."

Trent helped her onto her feet. "Can I get you anything?"

Gwen started to hyperventilate. "Water."

Trent rushed back to the commons and, two dollar coins later, returned with a bottle of water. Gwen took a big gulp, depleting half the bottle in moments.

She looked toward him. "Why?"

"What?"

"Why did you do this?"

"Don't worry. I was very careful to leave your 'program' out of the video."

"Why did you go after Chris?"

"I didn't go after him, not yet." Gwen shook her head, unable to contemplate. "I've got a wrongful imprisonment suit pending against Chris. That's how I take him down. The video is my way of taking down the show. I mean, they planned to have a guy with multiple personalities on the next season. One of those personalities is thought to be a psychotic killer. Who knows what could've happened if production went through?"

"The families of one of the victims would file a suit against the show and have it canceled like that." Gwen suddenly straightened up. "You weren't thinking about the potential victims, were you? You wanted the show destroyed all on your own."

"They slandered my name. They ruined my life. What was I supposed to do, lie back and take it, 'cause that wasn't gonna happen." Trent's harsh expression softened as he wrapped Gwen in a hug. "If it makes you feel any better, I did this for us."

"It doesn't. Not even close." Gwen slipped out of Trent's grasp. She ran away from him.

"Where are you going? Gwen, I need you. I can't face this life by myself. I'm sorry!" She was already halfway across campus by the time Trent finished up. He exhaled as he collapsed to his knees. 'I did do it for us', he half-mumbled, half-sighed.

* * *

It took several angry phone calls and hours of screaming, but Chris made it to the last name on the list. In a pique of exhaustion, he tossed the paper off of his desk.

He started to dial the number he was given. It wasn't until he dialed the third straight 'five' that he realized something was amiss.

He dived for the floor and saw the name next to the (obviously) fake number. His eyes widened at it: Fuk Yu.


	18. Achy breaky heart

There was once a time when one could easily distinguish legitimate reporters from tabloid hacks. These days, though, that line is somewhat blurrier.

Outside a Canucks game, a mini-squadron of...for purposes of space, let's call these guys "reporters", ran up on a laughing couple, considering them more interesting than the 4-3 double OT heartbreaker that let out minutes before.

Amongst the guys holding up cell phones with video capabilities, one of them extended a tape recorder at them. "Hi-hi. Have you seen the video that's been circulating of the 'behind the scenes' of 'Total Drama'?"

The couple's joyous expressions melted away. "Yeah, we have", the young man answered.

"And what do you think?"

"Offensive."

"Very offensive." The young man commandeered one of the camera phones and put it to his face. "Not cool, Chris!" He handed the phone back. The couple brushed by the intruders, very much in a huff.

"_You all right, Geoff?"_

"_I'm fine, Bridge."_

* * *

Just outside the mall, Lindsay had carted a couple of bags from the Khaki Barn. The "reporters" ran up to her, surprising her.

"Hello. Have you seen the behind the scenes video of 'Total Drama' that's been circulating?"

Lindsay tightened her grip on her bag straps. Even for something as upsetting as this, she wouldn't allow herself to break character. "I have." She drew out the word 'have' to cover up the anger she'd felt at its mention.

"And what do you think of it?"

"Not nice." Lindsay pouted her best, but delivered the line in a tone that strongly stated, 'Chris, if I ever see you again, I'm gonna kick your balls out of your bunghole'.

* * *

"Illegal." Courtney pressed her books against her chest. "So much, in fact, that I'm gonna be filing a lawsuit against Chris McLean and Fresh TV."

"And will this tie into the other lawsuits that you've filed over the years?"

Courtney scowled. "Let me answer that question with a few of my own: what news outlet do you represent? If the answer is none - and I'm almost positive it is - do you realize that this constitutes harassment? Lastly, these books make pretty good weapons. Would you like to find out how good they are?"

The "reporters" slowly backed away from her. They weren't in any mood to figure out if she was serious or joking.

* * *

One supposes it was a matter of time before the "reporters" tracked down the former contestants studying at Humber.

Gwen was about twenty feet from the library when she saw the crowd of reporters swarming Noah as he walked out.

"...unfortunately, yes, I have seen it."

"And what are your feelings about it?"

"Truly unconscionable."

Gwen's breath caught in her throat. They were certainly gonna solicit her opinion next. She started to run when her left foot knocked into her right one, tripping her.

Some of the other students turning toward her got the reporters' attention. They hurried toward her. Gwen struggled to her feet to run, but the reporters were too quick.

"Gwen…!", they all shouted at her. She started to cry as she covered her face. "Have you seen the behind the scenes vid-"

"No comment, please", she whimpered as she hobbled toward the library.

* * *

Gwen practically punched the 'up' button on the elevator, in no mood to waste time. As a fresh bout of tears came to her, the door opened. Its occupants, not noticing or caring, just passed her by.

Gwen pushed the '3' button and sank to the floor as the door closed. She pulled her legs close and buried her head in her knees.

The door dinged open on '2'. The blade in the lettermen jacket was about to step on when he saw Gwen. "Sorry. I'll get the next one."

* * *

The elevator stopped on '3'. The door dinged open. Gwen picked herself up and, shakily, walked out. Her phone started to ring. She answered it. "Hello?"

"_Gwen?"_

"Mom?"

"_Are you all right? You sound like you've been crying."_

Gwen wiped her eyes. "Yes. A little. These reporters wanted to talk about that video."

"_Oh my God."_

"You've seen it?"

"_The whole world's probably seen it."_

"Trent shot the video."

"_Seriously?"_

"Yeah."

"_Why would he do that?"_

"It's a really long story."

"_One that I hope you make me privy to sometime."_

"He and I got into a fight. We broke up."

There was a lengthy silence on Pauline's end. "_Gwen, I know our relationship hasn't exactly been strong in terms of doing what I say-"_

"Please don't tell me to work things out."

"_-but at least take some time before deciding to shut Trent out of your life. Whatever his flaws, he made you happy and I've always loved to see you happy." _Gwen sighed a little. _"How do you feel now?"_

"Better than I did a few minutes ago."

"_Good to hear. I'll call you tonight."_

"Bye, Mom...and thanks." Gwen hung up. Before she could pocket her phone, it rang again. She answered it. "Hello?"

"_Gwen? Vicky."_

"What's up?"

"_I need you to come in tonight. Prom dress designs."_ Gwen exhaled. She hadn't even been to her own school prom...and wouldn't have gone even if she'd been available.

"Okay. I'll get right…" Gwen trailed off. Trent usually gave her a ride to the studio. She sighed. There was always the bus. "I'll be there."

"_Great. See you then."_

With a sigh, Gwen hung up her phone. 'Guess I'd better check the bus schedules', she thought.

* * *

Modern technology allowed for information to become available - literally - at the tip of one's fingers. Still, nothing beat flipping through the pages of a library book.

Trent sat at a table, two stacks of film reference books on either side.

There was a 13-page term paper about _Sunset Boulevard_ and its fractured character relationships due in three weeks. No time like the present. While he'd seen the film and was impressed by it, there was always a need for supplemental information.

He buried himself in a biography on Billy Wilder; if anyone could assist Trent in this endeavour, it'd be him.

Trent jotted down a few notes and continued to read. Suddenly, he glanced up. The voices he heard were echoing and very familiar:

"_What's this movie about?"_

"_This screenwriter ends up in the mansion of this delusional actress and they use each other to find success."_

"_And it's a romance?"_

"_No. Trust me. You're gonna like it."_

Trent sighed deeply. Of course, he'd have to choose a movie with a connection to Gwen. He shrugged. 'I've come this far. No way I'm stopping now.'

* * *

The end of the work day was fast approaching. Chris checked over his phone as he liked to do; certain contacts weren't going to add and delete themselves. A knock at the door broke his concentration.

"Yes", he said, barely able to contain his irritation.

"_Can I come in?"_ Chris perked up. He knew that voice. He opened the door. A thirtysomething with a suit and a severe expression stepped in.

"Boris! Come in. So, what's up?" He took a seat in front of Chris' desk.

"I think we both know why I'm here."

Chris took his seat and picked up his phone. "The video?" He scoffed. "That's nothing. It-"

"It's been seen all over the world. I'd hardly call that nothing."

"You sound just like the guys at the network."

Boris darted his eyes to the side. "Yes. The network. You do know they're throwing you under the bus for this, right?"

Chris shrugged. "I had a feeling, but don't you worry. I can turn this around."

Boris started at his client with uncertainty. Not much in his career as a lawyer could faze him, but this certainly did. "Did I hear that correctly? If you were me and I were you, do you really think this could be turned around?"

Chris thought it over, which Boris found peculiar; was this something that needed to be thought over? "Well, with some effort, I think it could...hey, where are you going?"

Boris hurried for the door. "This is my two weeks notice. I quit, retroactive from two weeks ago." He slammed the door behind him.

Chris scoffed as he returned to his phone. "Baby."

* * *

In the last hour, Gwen had sketched out about ten different prom dress designs. She couldn't explain it, but it's like she'd had them buried deep within her and desired a chance to let them out.

Gwen's hand cramped up a little. She set her pencil down and flexed her fingers. "What I wouldn't give for some ice."

"_Gwen."_

She glanced toward the front door. It was Vicky, and next to her was a woman that Gwen had never seen before; a brunette in her fifties.

"So, this is her?"

"Absolutely. Gwen, I'd like you to meet Mollie Atkinson."

Gwen's eyes widened. "Hello", she barely managed to get out.

"The production doesn't start until the summer, but I just couldn't wait to meet you. I think your work on 'Pascal High' is quite good."

"Thank you. I really liked your work on that Sleepy Hollow movie, _Crane_."

"Yeah. Would that the Academy felt the same way…"

"I'm sorry. I'd shake your hand, but…"

"If I had a dollar for every time that's happened…" Mollie laughed. "Maybe, we can go get a latte and some ice."

Gwen smiled demurely. No doubt about it: she was feeling much better.

* * *

It was just another night at Pizza Pizza: students coming in for a slice, if not a whole pie and enjoying each other's company.

Trent glumly chowed down on a slice of Chipotle Chicken, but it didn't set his taste buds alight like it usually did. He had to face facts: it just wasn't the same without Gwen.

He glanced up at the TV screen idly. From the professional looking gentleman to the flashy graphics, it looked to be a news report.

"...footage we've obtained of former 'Total Drama' contestants and their reactions to the video."

Trent gasped.

"_Offensive."_

"_Illegal."_

"_Truly unconscionable."_

"_Not nice."_

"_No comment, please."_ Trent's heart sank at seeing Gwen. He wanted the truth to come out, but he hadn't considered the emotional fallout.

His slice tasted extra bitter from that point on.


	19. Not in the mood

"_Gwen? It's Trent. Look...you were right. I should've thought this through. I saw you on the news. I am so sorry for what I did. I never wanted to hurt you. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me. I don't want to lose that._

_I love you."_

So went the message that Trent left on Gwen's voicemail. That was two weeks ago. He hadn't heard a word from her since.

As heartsick as he currently felt, the one good thing about this - inasmuch as losing the love of one's life could possibly be seen as good - was that he'd screwed the relationship himself; no interference from some third-rate copy.

Trent glanced across the room and saw his roommate packing his bags. He struggled to get his duffel bag closed.

With a final tug and a pant, the other boy collapsed on the bed. He glanced to Trent. "So, what are you doing for Spring Break?"

Trent shrugged. "I don't know."

"Well, I'm pretty sure you can't stay here. People tend to talk."

"Don't I know it?", he replied, more to himself than his roommate.

Trent got up and dragged himself to the closet. He took out his backpack and dumped out his books and papers and stuffed it full of clothes.

"Going anyplace in particular?"

"I don't know. Maybe hitch across Canada, see where that takes me."

"Good plan", the roommate nodded, unsure of whether or not Trent was joking. He was afraid to confirm it, though.

* * *

Gwen sat down in front of her laptop and opened up her Skype account. Bridgette and Leshawna were already on smaller screens.

"What took you so long to get here?"

"Yeah. We were almost afraid you weren't gonna be on."

Gwen rubbed the back of her neck. "Sorry. I was still at work. The buses got caught in traffic."

"Buses? Wasn't Trent taking you there?"

"Not lately." Gwen glanced off to the side. That was all the hint that was needed.

"Oh, I'm sorry", the girls said on top of each other.

"How did it happen?"

"Well...we got to talking about the video-"

Again, Bridgette and Leshawna talked over each other, but Gwen just let them go so she could gather her thoughts.

"...the nerve of him…"

"...he's lucky I wasn't there…"

"...get away with something like that?!"

"...run him over with a truck!"

Gwen exhaled.

"So, you were talking about the video…?"

"And, well...I don't want to bore you with details…"

"No. Bore us, girl!"

Gwen chewed her lip a bit. "Trent tracked down the guy who shot the video. He said that he was doing the world a favor, but Trent said that he humiliated me in the process and he kicked the guy's ass. It was nice of him, but he didn't have to do that."

If Bridgette and Leshawna had been next to each other, they'd have surely glanced at one another, fully aware of what they were being served up. "You wanna tell us what really happened?", the blonde admonished.

Gwen buried her face in her hands. "If I do, you have to promise me you won't repeat it to anyone."

"No way. Geoff and I don't keep things from each other."

"I gotta tell Harold. Nothing personal."

"Too bad. It was pretty juicy." Gwen closed her laptop. She hurried to her door and locked it. 'Twas a good thing that her roommate was out on one last crawl before the break. She crept over to her laptop and opened it back up. The screen came back on, the smaller windows showing the worried faces of Leshawna and Bridgette.

"Okay, okay! We won't tell anyone!" The crosstalk made Gwen very happy.

"All right. It's a pretty long story, so get comfy. There was this warehouse in Scarborough…"

* * *

The Hyatt Regency Toronto. Still a nice place to stay if one was on vacation.

Trent set his bags down. The room looked very clean and inviting. He laid down on the queen-size bed and gently exhaled. He had just finished an all-day shift at Sobey's and wanted nothing more than to relax. He had no idea what tomorrow would bring, but hoped it would be, at least, somewhat better than today.

'Hitchhiking across Canada'? He'd seen people like that on the side of the roads in his trucking days. 'Not a chance in hell', he thought to himself.

He picked up his phone and checked it. No new messages. He sighed as he placed his phone on the nightstand. Tomorrow had to be better.

* * *

Trent sat in the restaurant watching people going in and out. He couldn't help but wonder about them; what brought them in.

He turned to an old couple in a booth against the wall as they calmly picked at short stacks. Had they always come to this restaurant for breakfast? Was pancakes their routine or a welcome change from it? Had they been together long? Trent smiled at that possibility; him and Gwen growing old together. The smile slipped from his face as his present situation came to mind.

The waitress set a plate in front of him. Pancakes, scrambled eggs, sausage and potatoes fresh for the eating.

"Thank you", he murmured. Trent got to eating, just another customer.

The wind kicked up outside. A housing circular blew by. It was only for a moment, but it caught Trent's eye. The same piece of sausage became stuck in his repetitive chewing.

"_So, where is the new house?"_

"_168 Caines Avenue in North York, Willowdale. There's a key under the welcome mat."_

Trent had the day off. Suddenly, he had a new item at the top of his to-do list.

* * *

Trent's Epica made its way up Caines Avenue. He parked the car in a space across the street. This was a nice neighborhood a lot like the one he knew from childhood.

He slowly approached the house, eager to drink it all in.

He lifted up the welcome mat. The key was still there. Trent unlocked the lock and opened the door.

His face sunk as he saw that the house was empty. Still, old memories ably filled in the gaps. He turned to the bare living room.

Slowly, he saw Christmas decorations draped around the walls. A beautifully decorated tree in the corner. Wrapped presents sat underneath it.

An eleven-year-old boy ran up to the tree. His face lit up as he hoisted the only unwrapped gift. "Cool! A guitar!", the boy exclaimed. He strummed out a few chords before setting it down.

He ran toward his parents and hugged them tightly. "Merry Christmas, Trent", they said in unison.

"Thanks, Mom and Dad. Thanks so much!"

Trent wiped away tears as the scene faded away. He went up the stairs, imagining the pictures that once hung on the walls. Eight-year-old Trent at Canada's Wonderland; Patrick and Annette's wedding picture; Trent's kindergarten graduation.

He passed the last step onto the second floor. He opened the first bedroom door. Suddenly, it was night in there; dark but for the lamp on the nightstand. Posters started to cover the bare walls. Annette sat at the edge of the bed, a storybook in hand. Four-year-old Trent was tucked in.

"Read it to me again, Mommy."

"No, sweetie. You need to sleep. You _are_ a growing boy, after all."

"Okay."

Annette kissed Trent on his forehead and switched off the lamp. "Good night, Trent."

"Night, Mommy."

Trent shook his head as the scene disappeared before him.

* * *

On his way out, Trent dropped the key under the mat. In straightening up, he saw a for sale sign on the lawn. He wasn't sure if it was just planted or if it had always been there and he hadn't noticed it.

He noticed the name of the realty company on the sign - Happy Home Realty - along with the name of the realtor - Melina Carter.

Trent pulled out his phone and dialed.

_"Thank you for calling Happy Home Realty. Let us make your home a Happy Home. This is Jill. How may I help you?"_

"Could I speak to Melina Carter, please?"

* * *

Chris studied the video forwards and back. It was how he spent his work days in the last week. He usually sent out for fancy lunches, but all he had to subsist on during his private screenings was coffee from the break room's vending machine.

He took a swig of the coffee. It was bitter, but not as much as the thought that his cushy life would soon be over.

Suddenly, he noticed it. The scene on the video faded. He was surprised not to have noticed the transitional effect before.

* * *

The parking lot at the warehouse in Scarborough was deserted but for one car. It was a rental, obtained so no one would suspect him. That plus an extra twenty to the girl behind the counter to keep his identity secret got him up here.

The security guard on patrol didn't mind not having much to do but walk around. He stopped at seeing who got out of the car. "Mr. McLean, I'm surprised to see you here."

"Yeah, yeah. I need to see the security footage from the last couple months."

"This place is a tomb. There's only been footage for one day in two months."

"That's the footage I need to see."

* * *

Chris took a look as the footage played out before him. It was an overhead shot of the crowd. The camera moved around and, as it went as far as it could go to the left, it caught someone detached from the rest of the group.

He was focused on the glass encasement and had slicked-back hair and a thin mustache. He pulled out a phone and seemed to be holding it up to the glass.

Chris scowled at this unfortunate development. The amateur filmmaker ran to join the group. Chris paused the footage to get a better look at him.

He stared intently, almost like he knew this guy...


	20. Earful of advice

Unit 31. The first of about four such units that were to be investigated.

Trent gazed at the storage units. He still couldn't believe that everything that had been in his home was now in these giant boxes.

It'd been a long day, what with contacting the real estate agent that was selling his home, then connecting with the family friend who'd arranged for the items to be placed into storage. He was reticent to give the information to Trent, until he volunteered a piece of information that the fake he'd surely mistaken him for couldn't possibly have known.

Trent opened the door to unit 31. Cardboard boxes lined the walls. He carefully took one from the side and opened it.

His parents' wedding picture. He started to cry. He pulled out another one. His kindergarten graduation. More tears fell. Another one. A picture of Trent and his parents in the backyard of their old home. He looked to be all of seven years old.

Trent hugged the picture to his chest. He couldn't stop crying even if he wanted to.

* * *

It'd only been a few months since she was here last, but Gwen's childhood home felt...smaller than it once did.

Gwen came down the stairs, apparently having just woken up.

"Mom, she's up!" She groaned at Jeremy's shouting.

Gwen grabbed her head. "Mute button."

"I've tried. No such luck." Pauline checked the clock. "Seven-forty. Impressive. I thought you'd be up past eight."

"It's my internal clock. It's still on college hours."

Pauline took a bite of her toast. "Told you it was a good idea. You'll need that internal clock once you get out of college."

"Don't remind me."

Pauline sighed. "I still can't believe you and Trent."

"Yeah. He was pretty cool", Jeremy said, in between spoonfuls of cereal.

Gwen clutched the box of Shreddies. "Last I checked, I was old enough to make my own decisions."

"And you decided to spend your spring break at home instead of down South."

"I asked you to front me the money and you said 'no'."

Pauline smiled. "Worked out well for everybody."

Gwen rolled her eyes as she poured a bowl. "Don't you two have to get to work or school or something?"

Jeremy threw his arm around his sister. "Nope. Spring break for me, too."

Pauline stood up. "I, however, need to get to work. Gwen, promise you won't kill your brother."

"I promise nothing." Gwen smirked as she started to eat.

* * *

Gwen would have to report to Blue Leaf for a design session, but for today, she would enjoy her free time.

She laid on her bed, idly messing around on her phone. Maybe, there was a new game she could download.

The phone slipped from her hand and fell to the floor. It was a good thing the floor was carpeted. Gwen rolled off and picked it up. She glanced underneath the bed.

An old shoebox near the front. She'd vaguely remembered having it.

She shrugged as she sat down at the edge of the bed. She flipped off the lid. Her eyes goggled at what she saw.

Atop a stack of what looked to be old magazine articles and newspaper articles was a dog collar. Gwen covered her mouth. She was sure she'd buried this underground...right after burning it.

She took out the dog collar and stared at it.

"_You seriously want me to wear this?"_

"_Yep!"_

"_Okay. I'll give it a shot."_

"_Wow!"_

"_What?"_

The first article under the collar showed the end result of that moment: a picture of the two of them, caught by surprise.

Gwen flipped through the rest of the articles. They were very much cut from the same cloth; pictures of the two of them hanging out, with the media making more of this than they should've.

In her mind, Duncan was a good guy to hang out with; even with that kiss (which she swore was just a moment of weakness), he wasn't boyfriend material to her...and she didn't think much of the warped minds who tried to put them together as such.

Gwen thought back on all the times she tried to push away any non-platonic thoughts of Duncan, and the headaches she suffered as a result.

Her mind wandered to the last time she'd been in close contact with Duncan.

* * *

In the wake of "Total Drama World Tour", the cast was required to do some publicity; riding the heat, as it were. Of course, Gwen and Duncan were booked in the same hotel room.

Still, to the credit of the producers, the room was very nice; much better than the accommodations they had to suffer through on the show.

Duncan thought that Gwen was attractive, but despite his bad boy image, he wasn't gonna force her to do anything she didn't want to do.

Gwen settled into her twin bed and fell asleep. She never saw Duncan get into his bed. As she was exhausted after the long day, she refused to think too much of it and fell into slumber.

* * *

It was aImost an hour later that she heard it: a faint, rhythmic panting sound. Gwen opened her eyes. She rolled over in bed. Light peeked out from the bathroom.

Gwen slowly crept toward the light. Her eyes widened at the sight: Duncan rocking back and forth. In front of him looked to be a computer screen, on which she could barely make out Courtney - or, at least, a reasonable fascimile thereof - posed provocatively. It quickly occurred to Gwen that the picture was a fake; there's no way that Courtney would pose for something that would cause a guy to react as Duncan was.

She covered her mouth in shock and amusement at realizing what was happening.

Duncan missed Courtney and he certainly wasn't shy about expressing it.

* * *

That morning, Gwen made a number of snarky veiled comments about what she'd witnessed. Shame didn't come naturally to Duncan, but he'd felt quite a bit at being found out. The two of them had agreed that it was better for the friendship to spend some time apart.

Gwen stuffed the items back in the shoebox and shoved the box under the bed. It wasn't right to live in the past, as one would miss out on the present.

* * *

It had been a while since Trent checked his Facebook page. He started it around the same time he got back together with Gwen. It didn't take long for the 'nine' comments to fly, so he abandoned it.

Trent checked his phone. He wondered if Gwen had found someone new...or old. He took a glance at her Facebook page. He considered posting something on her wall, only to find the message 'You must be logged in to post'.

Trent had to be sent his username and password via e-mail. Within minutes, he was logged back in. Out of morbid curiosity, he checked his own page.

It looked the same as it did the day it was established. Trent scrolled down. His mood lifted a little at what he was seeing.

From dramagurl476: _'I used to watch Total Drama. I had such a crush on you. Then I saw you going crazy and I fell out of love. Then i saw that video. I'm sorry I doubted you.'_

Trent continued to scroll down. A lot of comments from the last few weeks that all contained some variation on the above statement.

Trent scrolled further down. He gasped.

_'Trent, this is your cousin Valerie. Haven't seen you in a while. I really should've figured that that wasn't really you. Let's get in touch, 'kay?'_

He wiped a tear away. It felt good to have family again.

The page comments shifted somewhat. Trent scrolled to the top of the page.

_'Is anyone here?'_' It was from Heather.

Trent clicked on the link to her page. _'Hello. What do you want?'_, he typed.

Seconds later..._'To talk. Do you Skype?'_

More typing on his end. _'No.'_

_'I think you should.'_

* * *

It took forty minutes to figure it out, but Trent managed to get Skype onto his phone. Heather had appeared along with her lawyer, Gary. Thanks to lawyer/client privilege, Trent was able to tell him the whole story.

Gary advised Trent on his pending wrongful imprisonment suit, which the younger man appreciated.

_"...really fascinating. I need to jump off for a bit. I gotta put this through."_ Gary's screen disappeared, leaving Trent and Heather.

"He seems nice."

"Yeah. He's pretty great."

"Now, you're not gonna be using my name, right?"

"Sooner or later, it's gonna come out who shot the video. Maybe not from me, but it will."

"I'd rather it not be sooner _or_ later."

"So, you and Gwen, huh?"

"How'd you know?"

"Izzy told me while I was at Noah's during the holidays."

"Yeah. We're kind of on a break, though." Trent didn't quite know how to put it.

"Sorry. What's she up to?"

"She does costumes for 'Pascal High'."

"Shut up. I love that show."

"Yeah. I can't help but think about her. I probably shouldn't, but I do."

"Do you still love her?"

"Of course."

"Then why are you telling me instead of her?"

* * *

Gwen sat back on the living room couch. Pauline had brought home Harvey's. It'd been at least two years since she ate anything from there. Not out of any dislike of the place; she just never got around to it.

Pauline sat down next to her daughter. It was a good thing that Jeremy was upstairs on "World of Warcraft". The older woman did not want him around for this.

"Good dinner?"

Gwen nodded. "Oh, yeah."

"So, maybe we can talk about you and Trent?"

"Goodbye." Gwen tried to get up, but couldn't. She was still logy from her burger and fries. "This is your evil scheme: ply me with fast food and keep me in one place?"

"Pretty much. So, what happened?"

"That video, Trent shot it. He said he did it for us, but he's been on this campaign of revenge ever since Chris locked him in an underground room."

"An underground room?"

"Yeah."

* * *

Trent shook his head ruefully. "I lost Gwen to that show. I practically went through hell trying to get her back. I don't think it's gonna be as easy as just walking up to her and saying 'I'm sorry.'

Heather shrugged. "It's worth a try."

"I have to know: why are you being so nice to me?"

"Don't tell anyone, because if you do, I'll just deny it, but...I guess I felt sorry for you."

"Since when?"

"Since last summer, when I took a good look at myself and, well, I didn't like what I saw."

Trent was surprised and impressed that Heather could be this vulnerable.

* * *

Pauline exhaled at hearing Gwen's story. "Wow. I'm not gonna lie: if that were me, I'd be upset enough to consider Trent's solution."

"Mom!"

"Consider, not execute. You teenagers can be so dramatic. Still, he should've told you everything."

"Yeah."

"Talking things out is how relationships survive. Like when your father and I met. Was I upset that he looked better as Dr. Frank N. Furter than I did as Magenta? Yes, I was and I told him so."

Gwen covered her face. "Oh, my God."

* * *

Trent glanced at his screen. "Looks like Noah's done you some good."

"Yeah, he has. I'm amazed."

"How so?"

"I wouldn't take you for the kind of guy with the scrote to pull something like this off."

"That's who I had to become...or who I thought I had to become."

"Well, I need to go."

"I should probably get going, too. Thanks."

"I'll be seeing you."

Trent hung up the call. He stared at his phone. With a sigh, he pocketed it.

* * *

Pauline put her arm around Gwen. "I just want what's best for you."

"Don't say Trent's what's best."

"I'm not. It's your decision." Pauline stood up and headed for the stairs. "I would think that you would want what's best for you, too."

Gwen began to stand up, but the feeling of dinner still weighed against her. She shrugged and reached for the remote. May as well watch some TV as long as she's here.


	21. Around and around

Even a week later, Trent was still getting the hang of Skype, but it was, at the present time, the only way of contacting cousin Valerie.

Trent sat in the library at a computer terminal. Sure, he had signed up on his phone, but it could only operate on so much juice.

He signed onto the Skype website and dialed a number.

Another screen appeared on the monitor. Trent placed earbuds in his ears and plugged in the cord. The library had no problem with Skype sessions (as long as they were kept clean), but noise was, as ever, a problem.

Valerie appeared on screen. Blue eyes peered out from a pretty face and dark hair.

"Hello, Valerie."

"Hey, Trent. How are you?"

"I'm feeling pretty good."

"That's good to know. You in college?"

"Yeah. Started at Humber last fall. How about you?"

"University of British Columbia. Class of '99. Go T-birds. I'm married. Couple kids."

"Oh. Hope I can come by one day."

"That'd be cool. You got a girlfriend?"

Trent hesitated a moment. "I did...for a while."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it. We just need some time to think."

The sound of crying filled the air. "Oh. Excuse me a second." Valerie stepped away from her monitor. Moments later, she returned with a fresh-faced baby. "He's been pretty fussy."

"Who's that?"

"This is Irving." Valerie took Irving's hand and waved it. "Say hello to your cousin Trent." The baby offered no response.

"I think he's shy."

"Nah. He likes you. He's stopped crying, for one thing."

Trent smiled. "It is so nice to see you. It's just good to know I have family."

"Yeah, I heard about your parents. I'm so sorry."

Trent glanced off. "Well, you're not the one who should apologize."

"How's that?"

He shook his head, hoping to brush off his statement. "Nothing."

"Anyway, I hope you're doing well." Valerie sighed. "I wonder what happened with that money. Maybe, that guy probably blew through it, already."

"What money?"

"Well, after the accident, some lawyer, on behalf of your folks, sues the drunk driver that hit them. Squeezed like three million out of the guy. The money goes to you-"

"The thing that looked like me", Trent murmured.

"-and he decides to give the money to that 'Total Drama' guy, Chris McLean, 'out of the goodness of his heart'. It was in all the papers."

A slight twitch tugged at Trent's eye. "I must've been elsewhere."

Irving started to cry. Valerie sniffed the air. "Whoa. I think I need to get going. It's been really nice talking with you, cousin. I hope you can see us, sometime."

"Me, too."

"Take care, and good luck with your girl."

"Thanks."

Valerie's screen went black. Trent balled his hand up and slammed his fist into the partition.

A loud shhhh! piped up nearby. Maybe, it was finally time to get his own laptop.

* * *

Butterscotch pudding.

When he was a kid, after a rough day at school, his mother would always have a pudding cup ready for him. It always cheered him up.

His desk was surrounded by about 20 empty plastic cups. Their mood-lifting power seemed to have worn off.

His hair was disheveled. Stubble marred his flawless face.

The security footage was frozen on a shot of the mystery guest. Chris stared intently as he had for the last few weeks. He could've sworn he knew who this was.

A knock at the door drew his attention. "What?"

Marnie came in brandishing a bag from Sobey's. "Your pudding, Mr. McLean."

"Leave it on the desk and get out."

Marnie scowled at him. "You're welcome, sir." No response. An even bigger scowl draped her face as she stormed out.

Chris pulled out the six-pack of butterscotch pudding and opened one of them. He dug his spoon into the cup, hoping this would make him feel better.

"Mom...I'm thinking you were wrong about this." He grabbed the spoon and, with a grunt, threw it at the television.

The spoon, still covered in pudding, slid down the screen. It fell in such a way as to obscure the features of the visitor on screen, especially the area around his upper lip.

Chris reached over to his phone. "Marnie, could you get me another spoon?"

"_Yes, sir."_ By this point, she could barely disguise the contempt in her voice.

Chris glanced up at the screen. He stared intently, but not out of anger. More out of amazement.

Without the mustache and with the wrinkles smoothed out, he looked a hell of a lot like-

"_Mr. McLean, you have a visitor."_

"I'm very busy", he said through gritted teeth.

"_A visitor in a low-cut dress."_

If the pudding didn't lift his mood, the description of the visitor certainly did. "Send her in." He smoothed his hair back and rushed to the door.

With a smile, he opened it. "Hello, my darling."

"Hello, Mr. McLean." She was a blonde vision in her low-cut dress that showed off her legs and her ample cleavage.

"Please. Mr. McLean was my father. Call me Chris."

The woman walked in, a sway in her step. "Okay."

"So, what brings you here?"

She giggled. "You."

"Well, it's always nice to meet someone as...enthusiastic as you", he said, lingering a little too long on her assets. "Still, you could've visited me at home."

"This is something that needed to be done as quickly as possible."

He shrugged. "It doesn't have to be so quick, you and I."

"I insist." She handed him an envelope. He glanced down at it. "You've been served."

The smile fell from his face as quickly as it had gone up. "You're kidding me."

"No, I'm not. You have a nice day, sir." The living angel swayed out of the office. Even if one question the wisdom of catching flies, it was much easier to catch them with honey than vinegar.

Chris tore open the envelope. It was a subpoena. "How the hell can this be? I'm already in trouble for that video." He read on. "'Wrongful imprisonment'?" He blanched as he glanced toward the screen. "Trent…"

There wasn't enough butterscotch pudding to make him feel better about this.

* * *

Gwen sat in her dorm room, a book of poetry open in front of her. As much as she liked her job on "Pascal High", she cherished the nights where she could just unwind and hang out.

Gwen's phone started buzzing. She picked it up. "Hello?"

"_Gwen." _It was one of her Goth friends, Marilyn.

"Hey. What's up?"

"_They're having this horror movie marathon at TIFF Lightbox tonight."_

"Cool."

"_You wanna come?"_

"Yeah, okay. What time?"

"_Seven."_

Gwen checked the clock on her phone. 6:25pm. "Could you pick me up?"

"_You got it."_

Gwen hung up. Maybe, seeing idiots ripped to pieces by some hideous monster would take her mind off of her misery.

She reached over to her phone. The most recent headline on her news feed app caught her eye:

'Lawsuit Halts New Total Drama Series'

Curious, Gwen clicked on it.

"...a statement from Fresh TV, the new 'Total Drama' series that was set to premiere this summer, tentatively titled 'Total Drama: Revenge of the Island', is being placed on an indefinite hiatus due to the recent turmoil stirred up by the infamous behind the scenes video."

Gwen turned her phone off and pocketed it.

* * *

The screening room was three-quarters full. Just about all of the moviegoers were students, who were currently engaged in talking and messaging on their cell phones.

Finally, Trent's night had come.

A number of his classmates were also in the audience. The extra credit was a nice carrot, but many of them genuinely did like the movies that were shown.

Trent had hoped that no one had appropriated any of his choices and, thankfully, his prayers were answered.

Tonight, he'd be showing an epic trilogy; one cherished by cineastes for many years.

The Vincent Price trilogy of the early 70s. _The Abominable Dr. Phibes_. _Dr. Phibes Rises Again_. _Theatre of Blood_.

Trent had run into the films at various points on television before ending up on 'Total Drama'. (_Rises, Theatre _and _Abominable_, in case anyone was wondering about the order.) He thought they were all pretty entertaining, with marvelous work by Price, though they took on special resonance as the semester progressed, what with Dr. Phibes seeking revenge for having the love of his life taken from him. (His kinship with Edward Lionheart was considerably looser, though it's still a damn fine movie and revenge does figure in heavily.)

That he knew of, no one had arranged the films in one night like this, though someone must have, right?

Trent sat in the projection booth, ready to cue up _The Abominable Dr. Phibes_. He glanced out into the audience. Just before the lights went down, he saw it in the middle of the fifth row: a head of dark hair and teal streaks.

It couldn't have been. Then again, she did have a fondness for horror movies.

As the movie went on, Dr. Phibes' plague-based revenge scheme was going off without a hitch. However, Trent could only focus on the girl he was sure was Gwen.

He had seen quite a few romantic comedies in his life. Boy meets girl, they court, fall in love, then some kind of misunderstanding that separates them, then the big gesture that reunites them at the end.

The scene was coming together, already.

"Gwen!"

In the audience, Gwen glanced up at hearing her name. She turned around. "Trent?"

"Gwen!", he called out again.

The people surrounding Gwen moved out of the way so she could get through. "Trent!"

Trent hurried down the steps of the booth and ran into the screening room. Gwen ran up the aisle and saw him at the back. They ran right into each other's arms.

"I'm so sorry!", they said on top of each other.

"You were right, Gwen. Revenge isn't worth it if I can't have you."

"I'm glad you realize that, even if Chris did have it coming."

"I don't want to lose you again."

"You never will."

The two of them kissed, as the patrons cheered them on. A triumphant orchestral melody seemed to play over the moment, nearly drowning it out.

Suddenly, the music cut out. Trent was in the projection booth. Gwen (at least, who he was certain was her) was still in her seat. The end credits were rolling.

He'd imagined the whole thing. Damn.

'Well, there are two more movies to go. Better get them cued up', Trent thought as he gazed into the audience, unable and unwilling to keep himself from slipping into fantasy once again.


	22. Taking time

The law offices of Stern, Davison and Palmer. Very professional, making Trent in his casual wear all the more out of place. Still, all his fancy clothes (which he'd likely outgrown) were in storage. Trent sat at a desk in front of a lawyer - the Stern of the firm's title.

"Again, I'd like to thank you for taking care of my parents; their belongings, the case…"

"Think nothing of it, Trent. Your folks and I go way back. Still, after what happened on the show, I can't imagine why you'd give that settlement to Chris McLean."

Trent's eye twitched. He then shrugged. "Just racked with grief, I guess. I should really get going. I need to clear out my dorm room."

"Okay, then. We'll be in touch." Trent shook Stern's hand and headed for the door.

Trent traversed the narrow hallway. At the end was the elevator. He pushed the 'down' button. He glanced up at the door. There hung an 'out of order' sign.

He exhaled as he pushed through the door to the stairwell.

An elderly secretary came up on the elevator. She squinted through cat's eye glasses at the sign. "Who put this up here?"

The door dinged open.

* * *

Trent made his way down the stairs, passing the third floor. Unseen by him, two men in suits and dark glasses followed behind.

As he reached the landing, Trent spun around and glanced up at the intruders.

"Are you Trent Van Horn?"

He narrowed his eyes. "Depends who's asking."

"Rhetorical question. We know it's you."

"And yet, I don't know who you are."

The second man stepped forward. "We need you to come with us."

"As soon as you tell me who you are and what organization you're with, I'll consider ignoring you."

"Look, we could waste time with some fancy song-and-dance, but this is very important."

"I'm sure you think it is."

The bag went over Trent's head faster than he could react. No way this was happening a second time. A third man behind Trent grabbed his arms and held them behind his back.

The two other men rushed Trent. Clearly, they didn't watch very many movies. Using the bag man as leverage, Trent jumped up and kicked wildly, landing a lucky shot at one man's face.

The other man grabbed Trent's legs and held them together. The injured man held his nose up to stop the flow of blood and scooped up his broken shades.

* * *

The three men, package in hand, hurried into a minivan that disappeared into traffic.

Trent struggled to move his hands, only to find they were handcuffed. He tried to yell, but his mouth was gagged.

'Chris managed to figure it out. Took him long enough. If he's planning on killing me, he better make it quick.'

* * *

After about half an hour, the minivan stopped. One of the men undid Trent's bindings on his legs. Feeling that he wouldn't get far with his cuffed arms, Trent walked under his own power with the men. He couldn't see anything, but he could hear people talking.

'Must be an office building', he thought. He hoped that someone saw him and would already be on the phone to the police. No way was he somewhere where this kind of thing was commonplace, right?

The men guided Trent along through the hall. Before him, he heard the ding of an elevator. The men dragged him inside.

The doors closed.

One of them slipped his hand in the back of the bag and undid Trent's gag. "Hope you guys weren't making any plans for the weekend, because kidnapping is a felony."

"Probably should've waited on the gag", the bag man murmured.

The doors dinged open. One of the men unlocked Trent's cuffs and grabbed the back of the bag.

Another one - the one who caught the shoe with his face - shoved Trent out of the elevator. The doors closed before Trent could turn around and give them a tip.

Trent glanced around at his surroundings. It was an office. People chatting and answering phones.

Marnie sat at a desk. She hung up the phone and glanced over to Trent. She did a double take.

"Trent?"

He turned to face the young woman. "Do I know you?"

"You probably don't. My name is Marnie. I watched 'Total Drama Island' all the time. Kind of the reason I got a job here."

Trent nodded. "Oh."

"Can I get you anything? Water?"

"Maybe call the cops. These jackasses tied me up and brought me here."

"Oh, that reminds me. Chris wanted to see you."

"Chris? McLean?"

"None other."

"So he had his goons drag me here?"

"In his mind, there was no other way." Trent took a seat next to Marnie's desk. "Hope you're not too weirded out by this, but I had such a crush on you."

"Thanks."

Marnie pushed a button. "Mr. McLean, your three o'clock is here."

"_Great. Be ready in a few, and get my phone in here!"_

"Yes, sir", she said with a roll of the eyes.

"Good work, huh?"

"The guy's a dick", Marnie stated bluntly.

"Scoop of the century."

"Yeah. Everybody loves hot dogs until they find out how they're made."

"He has you charging his phone? He can't do this himself?"

She shrugged. "As long as he has underlings, why waste them, right?"

Trent thought back to the intern he ran into at Sobey's.

"_Okay. Send him in."_

"Good luck in there."

"Thanks." Trent pushed himself out of the chair. "He's probably gonna want his phone."

"Yeah. Two things, though: a) it's still only on 15% battery life because b) I forgot to charge it." The word 'forgot' was punctuated with a wink.

Trent walked to the office. He stopped before he went in. "Marnie, was it? You're all right." She couldn't help but blush.

* * *

Trent took a good look around the office and the numerous status symbols on the walls: much like Chris' trailer, it was covered with pictures of Chris posing with celebrities.

The chair at the desk spun around. Chris smiled at his guest. "Trent!"

"Chris."

"Have a seat." Trent sat at the chair in front of the desk.

"Is this how you get people to see you: snatching them off the street?"

"What else was I supposed to do? I knew you wouldn't accept an invitation to tea."

"Well, I'm here. What do you want?"

Chris put up his finger. "Just a minute." He mashed that same finger onto the intercom system. "Marnie, my phone!"

"_Right away."_

"Good help, you know?" Marnie brought the phone in and set it on Chris's desk. Trent watched as Chris turned it on. "It's so nice to see you again."

"I'm sure you think so."

"I know we've had our disagreements."

"Disagreements? You-"

"-only wanted to do what's best for the show. That's all I've ever wanted, and now this. How could you do this?" Chris cast a glance at his phone; brief enough to not draw attention, but Trent managed to notice.

Trent hit himself in the head. "I don't know what I could've been thinking."

"So, you admit that you took that video?"

"What video?"

"That video of the factory."

"Haven't been to very many factories."

"The one in Scarborough."

"Scarborough...don't think I've ever been there. What do they make? You know, you can never have enough baby cribs."

"You know what I'm talking about." Chris was staring to lose his composure.

"If I did, I'd tell you."

"Cut the crap! I know you stole one of those invitations."

"Invitations? I've never stolen anything in my life, and I certainly was never invited to join 'Total Drama World Tour'. You'd think the guy who plays guitar would've been a shoo-in, but I'm not bitter about it." Trent quickly glanced at the phone; the lack of battery life had finally caught up to it and it switched off. "However, I am immensely bitter about having my life turned inside out by what you did to me: I lost my girlfriend, I lost my home, I lost my parents and I lost my credibility."

"I had nothing to do with your parents. You have my word."

"Unfortunately, yes. All I have is your word, and you want to know something else? The fallout of that video was worth it to expose you as the scum-sucking asshole you really are."

"Thank you." Chris picked up his phone. "Well, I guess I can tell you why I summoned you here today."

"What, that you wanted me to catch me saying something incriminating in the vain hope of taking the heat off of yourself?" The color drained from Chris's face. "Did I not mention that I like movies?"

* * *

Gwen sighed as she packed her laptop into her backpack. She couldn't believe this was the last week of the semester.

She took a glance at the other side of the room. It was already bare. Her roommate cleared out that morning. A little loose, but a nice girl, all things considered.

Suddenly, something came to Gwen. She checked the dresser drawer built into the bed. She opened each of the drawers, checking to see if she was about to leave anything behind.

She opened the top drawer. A ring slid into her view.

Trent's promise ring.

In the chaos of unpacking her things at the beginning of the semester, she had forgotten all about it.

As she stared at it, familiar words filled her head…

_"I didn't want to embarrass you in front of your family, but this is a promise ring."_

_Gwen laughed a little. "And what does it promise?"_

_"That no matter what, if we're together until we're old or if we break up in a week, we'll still be friends. We'll be there for each other: babysitting, kidney transplants, bail money, anything."_

_Gwen couldn't help but giggle. "It's a deal." She slipped the ring on her finger. "It's really nice."_

_"Thanks."_

Gwen slipped the ring on her finger for the first time since that night. Still a perfect fit.

She collapsed to the floor. She was still unhappy with Trent for what he did, but she still remembered the good times: the pizza, the holidays, the rides.

Her memory went back to a particular day.

* * *

It was a brisk Spring day in downtown Toronto.

The crowds at the Galleria were crazy. Gwen was there to do some shopping. She'd been recommended to the Khaki Barn by her mother, but the staff there was way too sickeningly perky.

She'd checked the map kiosk and found that there was a Smart Topic store there. Unfortunately, it was at the other end of the mall.

Her legs were killing her from all walking, so she decided to stop at the food court.

She sighed as she stretched out her legs. The mall security officer passed by. He locked eyes with her and gave her the 'I'm watching you' gesture. Did he think she was loitering? Whatever.

"_Nice day, huh?"_

Gwen's eyes goggled. She knew that voice. She didn't think she'd ever hear it again.

She turned left, then right. She turned behind her. "Trent?"

It was the very same. It'd only been a few months since the end of 'World Tour', but he seemed to have aged at least a couple of years. "Hey."

"You look...good."

"Nice to hear that from anyone, especially you."

"How have you been?"

"Okay. I've got a job at Sobey's."

"Oh. I'm applying for a job at Blue Leaf Studios. They're looking for a costuming assistant."

"That's great. You've always liked...drawing."

Gwen nodded. "Yeah."

"So, what brings you here?"

"Just getting some outfits. I'm going to Humber College this fall."

"No kidding. Me too. I'm interested in their film program."

"Wow. I didn't know you wanted to make movies."

"Yeah. Since I was in grade ten. My mom…" Trent felt like he wanted to hyperventilate, but steeled himself. "...she took me to movies all the time."

"That's awesome. My mom is always on me to get things done. It's so annoying."

"You should listen to her. Mom's advice is some of the best you'll ever get."

"Okay. So, what brings you here?"

"Have a day off. Couldn't think of anything else to do. I think that rent-a-cop knows I'm not here for any purpose."

"Yeah. What is his deal?"

"So...how are things with you and Duncan?"

"We broke up."

Trent's poker face wasn't the strongest; she could see the celebratory look in his eyes. "That's too bad."

"Not really. He's still stuck on Courtney. Maybe, it's for the best."

"Are you seeing anyone now?"

"No, I'm not."

Even more jubilation. "Oh. I don't suppose you wanna...grab something to eat some time?"

"I'd like that."

"Cool. Maybe, see you around?"

"I guess. Let me give you my number." Gwen took a napkin from the table and wrote her number down. She handed it to him. The feeling of her touch caused Trent to smile as he hadn't in a long time.

* * *

The detail that Gwen remembered was that neither of them mentioned the show; almost like it was a kind of unspoken covenant between two friends who'd escaped from a hellish prison.

Gwen sunk to the floor and started crying. Not even a knock at the door could rouse her out of it.

"Hello? Gwen?" The door opened. It was Pauline. "Sweetie, I'm here. Gotta beat the traff…" She saw her daughter on the floor and immediately slipped into doting mother mode, giving her a hug. "I'm sorry. Should I give you a minute?"

Gwen tried to smile through her tears. "If you don't mind."

* * *

Chris tried desperately to turn his phone on. Trent started to smile. "This probably wouldn't have happened if you charged your own phone every once in a while."

"Like I need my phone. I can still tell people what you said and what you did."

"But how? The only people who've heard this conversation are in this room, and since I know I'm not gonna say anything…" Trent pushed himself out of the seat. "Now, if you'll excuse me…"

"Sit down!"

"Screw you. This is not happening again." Trent didn't break his stride.

"If it's any consolation to you…"

The c-word stopped the younger man in his tracks. "What could you possibly say that would console me?"

"You weren't specifically targeted for elimination on 'Total Drama Action'." Trent turned around. Chris nodded. "That's right. There's a dartboard in the writer's room with each contestant's name written on it. One of them threw a dart. It landed on you. It could just as easily happened to Duncan or Lindsay or Harold or Gwen…"

Trent rushed toward Chris, grabbing him by his shirt. "I didn't come here with violent intentions, but if you say Gwen's name again, that changes in a big way."

"Fine!" Chris shook the younger man loose.

"This is how you try to console me? 'It's the nature of the beast'?"

"It's all I have."

Trent balled his hand into a fist and brought it up, ready to fire. "You know, for the longest time, I had dreams of what I'd do to you if I ever got this close. I had a list made in my mind. At the top was 'beating you with my bare hands'. Primitive, I know. The punishments got more and more gruesome as time went on. The _Saw_ movies would've looked toothless." Trent put his fist down. Chris dove for the phone and started to dial. "Who are you calling?"

"The police! What I should've done a long time ago."

"And you're telling them, what? 'The guy I had abducted off the street is trying to kick my ass'?"

Chris hung up the phone before the call could connect. "I thought you didn't come here with violent intentions."

"Let me finish. Then I went on that tour and I saw those robots of yours. What you had them programmed for. Especially Gwen. It was at that moment that I decided you deserve neither the luxury of death nor the safety of prison."

"So, what are you going to do to me?"

"I've had some time to think about it. I'm gonna do...nothing."

Chris rifled through his papers. "Then what do you call this?" He handed Trent the subpoena.

"Oh, right. This was just to scare you."

"I'm already having my career destroyed because of the video. I'm plenty scared, all right?"

"Well, this little stunt doesn't exactly help you. One word to my lawyers and I know quite a few of them…"

"All right, all right. How about this? I set up a press conference and offer a public apology for what happened to you."

"You'd do that?"

"I would."

"Just to save your own ass?" Chris was speechless. A rare moment, to be sure. "That's what I thought." Trent advanced on Chris. "You can shove your apology up your ass for two reasons: a) whatever you have someone write for you, 'cause we both know you're not coming up with it yourself, will sound hollow in the face of what I've been through and b) I'm not so egocentric that I need a big production made of how quote-unquote 'sorry' you are."

"Then what _do_ you want?"

"I want a lot of things", Trent said in a resigned tone of voice. "I want one more hug from my parents. I want my childhood home. I want my girlfriend. I want you tarred and feathered. The things we want most in life are usually the things we never get."

Chris opened his mouth, but hesitated. "You know, even with all that's happened, I do wish I could give you those things. All I wanted was an entertaining show. I didn't want all this." Trent was taken aback at the unexpected graciousness with which Chris's reply was given. He couldn't help but think, if only for a moment, that they were both good men before being stricken with the poison of fame.

"Chris, I thought of something else I want that you can give me."

"What's that?"

"Not long after my parents' accident, the trial suing the driver resulted in a settlement of three million dollars that that fake gave to you." Chris's eyes goggled. He knew what was coming. "I'd like that money."

"Trent, I can't."

"What do you mean, 'you can't'?"

"The suit against the show, it's squeezing out everything I have. That three million's my rainy day money."

"I hope you were smart enough to set aside ten bucks for an umbrella."

Chris put his hands on Trent's shoulders. "I lose that money, I have nothing."

"Then that will make us even." Trent shook off his hands.

"And is spending the money really gonna make you happy?"

"I don't plan on spending it."

"Then why do you even want it?"

"Because spending that money is far less important to me than making sure you don't have it."

"Trent-"

"As I see it, you have two choices in front of you: a) give me the money and I drop the wrongful imprisonment suit. You'll never see me again."

"And 'b'?"

"B) keep the money, risk losing it all in the trial and, well...wrongful imprisonment _is_ a felony, after all."

"A." It was so quiet as to barely count as a sound.

"What was that?"

"I choose 'a', okay?"

"Fine. I'll get you my account info before the end of tomorrow." Trent took a few steps before turning back around. "Oh, and one more thing and I'm amazed I even have to say this aloud: if you welch on so much as a loonie of that money, I'll devote my life to making you wish you'd killed me today."

Trent turned to walk away, only to feel his legs stiffen. Chris was wrapped around them. "Trent, please. I have no money. No show. No career. Think of my integrity."

"You host and produce a reality show. How much integrity could you possibly have? How much could you possibly have _left_? Do you even know what the word means?" Trent stepped out of Chris's grasp. "Don't bother walking me to the door. I know where it is." Trent disappeared behind it, leaving a broken man staring at him.


	23. Monster mash

Swiss Chalet. A popular Canadian dining establishment for over half a century.

Whether as celebration, a family get-together or a means of Western New Yorkers wanting a taste of what they once had for a time, it was always busy.

It was a balmy night. Trent stood outside, a cell phone at his ear and designer threads on his back.

"Gwen, it's me. Again. I don't know if you're checking your messages, but I really hope you get this one. Please, call." He pocketed his phone.

"_Trent, our table's ready!"_ He glanced inside to see Heather beckoning him in. Equally dressed up with a smile and a stunning black dress.

* * *

"Okay, I'll have those orders put in right away." The waiter hurried off. Trent sat at the table with Heather and Gary.

Gary shook Trent's hand. "It's so nice to meet you in person, Trent."

The younger man shrugged. "Thanks."

"As a lawyer, I can't condone what you did, but as someone who could care less about reality television, it takes balls to do what you did."

"Yeah."

Heather nudged him. "Trent, I thought you'd be happy. That show is on its way out."

"It doesn't mean as much without Gwen."

She shook her head. "I've been trying hard to move away from the bitch persona, but I need to say it: you're ruining the night."

"I'm sorry."

Gary glanced to Trent. "Did Chris really have you dragged off the street?"

"He did. Tried to get me to drop the wrongful imprisonment suit."

"And you laughed at him for it, right?", Heather asked, a bit of a laugh in her voice.

"No. I...dropped the suit."

"What?" Heather nearly screeched the word out.

"I have to agree. That sounds like an open and shut case."

"Yeah", Trent replied passionlessly.

"You could've put him away for twenty years."

"Yeah."

"Then why didn't you?"

"I'd thought about it, but then I realized something."

Heather gave Trent an odd look. "Please don't tell me you realized 'if I do this, I'll be just like him'?"

Trent shook his head. "No."

"Good. I hate that crap."

"I realized...being Chris, especially now, but in general...that's a much worse punishment than anything a judge can hand down."

"You're probably right. Jail's too good for that son of a bitch, anyway." Heather took a sip of her water.

"That's another way to look at it."

"I have to ask. They have Swiss Chalets in Vancouver. What brings you here?"

"Just thought I'd visit Noah."

"How's he doing?"

"Pretty well. He's crushing his classes."

Trent chuckled. "Hardly a surprise."

"And I had to visit some kids at a youth center."

"Community service?"

"Because I wanted to."

"Huh. I'm amazed. I would never have expected this from you."

"What exactly is that?"

"Kindness. Compassion. Largesse."

"Well, that show did a number on all of us. Also, I can't help but feel a little responsible for what happened to you. Getting you kicked off when I kissed you."

"That had nothing to do with anything."

"Couldn't have helped."

Trent smiled a little. "Thank you, though."

A flash went off near the table. It belonged to a man wielding a camera phone. "Well, what brings the two of you out here together?"

"Just two friends having a night out."

"Seriously, why are you together?"

Heather stood up and advance on the amateur photographer. "Piss off is why." She took a step forward. This was enough to scare him off.

"I see you haven't left your attitude completely behind", Trent remarked as Heather sat back down.

"I hope not. Job'd be pretty boring, otherwise." The waiter arrived with three plates, all containing a quarter chicken dinner.

Trent started to dig into his chicken. He took a brief glance up. He dropped his fork suddenly.

At a table across the dining hall sat Gwen. Her chicken pot pie was half-finished. She was picking at the rest, like a little girl forced to eat her vegetables.

He remembered wanting to take her here to celebrate her getting to work on a movie. Looks like he'd been beaten to the punch.

Vicky and Mollie were on either side of her and looked to be having the time of their lives.

"...and there he was, just eating a Belgian waffle!" Mollie had many an encounter with the performers whose films she designed. This was one such encounter.

The older women shared a hearty laugh while Gwen continued to sulk.

Vicky wiped a tear from her eye. "Man, Mollie, you tell the best stories."

Mollie glanced over at her apprentice. "Gwen, are you feeling alright?"

"What's wrong? They undercook the chicken?"

"The chicken's fine. It's just...excuse me." She stammered. Clearly, she'd remembered Trent's vow.

Trent pushed away from his table and watched as she hurried out.

* * *

Gwen leaned against a lamppost just up the street. She grabbed her arms and shivered a little. She hadn't counted on it getting so cold.

A shadow cast over her. She turned around.

"Hey." It was one of the kitchen staff. He was built like a linebacker and had a peculiar glint in his eyes.

"Hello,", she replied uncertainly.

"You need a light?"

"I don't smoke."

This took him aback. "Seriously?"

"Seriously."

"Why are you out here?"

"I just want to be alone."

He took a step closer. "You don't mean that, do you?"

"I do. Shouldn't you be getting back inside?"

"I'm on my break." He drew closer.

Gwen took a couple steps back. "Why waste it on me?"

"Come on, Gwen." She stopped walking at hearing her name. "What, you think 'Total Drama' was off the air long enough that I wouldn't recognize you?"

"I was hoping."

"You know, I always had a thing for you. You wanna get out of here?"

"No."

He grabbed her arm. "I don't think you're listening. If I want you, I'm gonna have you."

She snatched her arm out of his grasp. "Look, asshole, I don't know what you think is happening, but you need to go away."

"I'm not going anywhere." He grabbed onto her arms and pulled her closer.

"Let go of me!"

"And why should I-" She answered him with a heel to the foot, then a foot to the groin. He covered his crotch and fell to the sidewalk. Gwen took off back toward the restaurant. He reached his hand out and grabbed her ankle, tripping her.

He crawled onto her. She punched him all over, but he grabbed her arms and held them down.

"_Excuse me."_ They glanced in the direction of the voice. It was Trent. "The lady said 'no', or is that too big a word for you?"

The bigger man squinted, then pointed at him. "You're Trent, aren't you?"

"What does that matter? Leave her alone." Trent moved closer to the assailant.

"Sorry to tell you, but she's with me now."

"I don't think she wants to be with you."

"Course she does. Tell him."

"Trent, call the police. Do it n-" He covered her mouth.

"There. You see?"

Trent rolled his sleeves up. "I haven't been in a fight since grade ten. Are you gonna let her up or is history gonna repeat itself?"

"Are you threatening me?"

"You're not as dumb as you look."

He assumed a mockingly frightened stance. "Oh, is the psycho really gonna beat me up?"

"Excuse me?"

"Well, after I beat you up in nine minutes, I'm gonna wreck this chick for a good nine hours and, maybe, I can take a nine-day trip…"

It didn't take long before all Trent could hear was the word 'nine', delivered in the cruelest, most condescending tone imaginable. That, by itself, would've been enough to rile him up. But this voice belonged to someone threatening Gwen. His hands tightened into fists. He grit his teeth. His face twisted into an ugly scowl.

With an almost otherworldly yell, Trent charged at the man, the world around him going white.

* * *

Trent laid on the sidewalk, exhausted. He opened his eyes. He expected Gwen to be looking into his eyes, asking if he was all right.

Instead, a policeman was hovering over him. He tipped his cap. "What happened here, sir?"

Trent sat up. The mini-crowd of people surrounding him and the officer slowly backed away.

"Where's Gwen?"

"The young woman? She's fine. What happened here?"

"Well, there was this guy. H-he was about to violate Gwen."

The officer extended his hand. "Come with me, sir."

Trent slowly stood to his feet. He put a hand to his head. It was bandaged up. He glanced to his other hand, which was in the same condition. Blood seeped through the gauze. 'What was I doing? Punching a brick wall?', he thought to himself.

The policeman guided Trent toward an open ambulance. On a gurney laid the assailant, or what was left of him. A broken nose, both arms in slings, a bandaged leg, bruised lips, three missing teeth and blood from his ears.

Trent grimaced. The man's eyes opened. He screamed as best as he could with gauze in his mouth. "Keep him away from me! Keep him away!"

The policeman guided Trent away. "And this is just what we can see. His name is P. Y. Fedraw. You do realize you're looking at serious assault charges."

"Is Gwen okay?"

"The young woman is fine, sir, but-"

"She wasn't...attacked?"

"She was not."

"May I see her, please?" The officer pointed up the block. Gwen sat on the curb, covered in a blanket.

Trent ran to her. Gwen looked up at him. "Are you all right?"

She shook her head. "I really don't know."

"Did he hurt you?"

"After a while, I wasn't worried about _him_ hurting me."

"What do you mean?"

"You really don't know, do you?" Gwen whipped out a phone. It didn't look like hers. "I had to steal this from its owner. No one else shot this, as far as I know." Trent's expression became more and more horrified as he watched. On screen, Trent twisted Fedraw's arm behind his back. He tripped him without letting go of his arm. Fedraw screamed. Trent let go of the arm and started kicking him in the stomach. In the background of the video, there was a voice that was yelling 'Please stop!'. It was Gwen's. Her fearful cry shook Trent to his core.

Trent covered the phone. "I did that?"

"And so much more", she said as she deleted the video.

"I really don't remember this. All I remember is charging the guy and, next thing I know, I'm on the sidewalk. It's like...I wasn't in control of my body." Trent wrapped his arms around Gwen. "I'm just so glad you're all right."

Gwen recoiled from his touch. "Please don't touch me."

"What's wrong?"

"You could've killed that guy."

"Who knows what he could've done to you?"

"That's not the point. You know, when we got back together, I kept hearing from people all over, 'Oh, he's crazy. You're making a mistake. He's crazy.' I didn't listen to them because I thought they were dead wrong. Now...I'm really not sure."

Vicky came out of the restaurant. She ran up to Gwen. "Gwen, are you all right?"

"Could you take me home, please?" Her voice quivered. This was not going to go away.

"Okay." Vicky led Gwen away from the crime scene. Trent sunk to his knees. He'd lost the love of his life again.


	24. You're always on my mind

Trent lied on his hotel room bed, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. He hadn't gotten much sleep lately. Every time he closed his eyes for an extended period of time, visions of his fight (perhaps, it was disingenuous to call it a fight; that, after all, would've implied that the opponents were equally matched) came to him, scaring him and reducing him to tears.

Trent turned on the television, the perfect antidote to insomnia. Sadly, as effective as the Regency could be as a vacation home, the television selection wasn't as vast as he'd have liked.

He couldn't stay in his room; eventually, he'd have to go to work or go out someplace.

Just as he rose from his bed, his cell phone rang. He picked it up, eagerly; maybe, it was her. "Hello?", he said, all the hope in the world conveyed in two syllables.

_"Trent, it's Gary."_

"Oh." Trent deflated. "Hello."

_"You remember that guy you beat up last week?"_

Trent swallowed. "Yes…?"

_"I have to tell you...you must have a guardian angel looking out for you?"_

"What?"

_"He's decided not to press charges."_

"Seriously?"

_"His lawyer's trying to argue brain damage the guy sustained in the attack is influencing his decision, but, for the moment, I'd say you're in the clear."_

Trent started to cry, but for the first time in a long time, they were tears of joy. "Thank you, Gary."

_"You wanna thank me? Stay out of trouble. I like talking to you, but not in this context."_

"I will. I promise."

_"Okay. Have a nice day."_

"Definitely."

Trent hung up. He exhaled quickly. He felt nervous and happy at the same time. He didn't have to work for another couple days. May as well celebrate this good news somehow.

* * *

_Singin' in the Rain_. Widely recognized as a marvelous romantic comedy and one of the best movie musicals of all time.

Trent had seen it a few times on cable, but this was the first time he'd seen it on the big screen. The eye-popping musical numbers. The snappy dialogue. Just perfect.

Yet, Trent had tears in his eyes almost from the first frame. Though Gwen was no more Kathy Selden than he was Don Lockwood, the romance aspect of the film touched him deeply.

Sometimes, he'd longed for that kind of Hollywood ending: two people in love triumphing over adversity to find their way to each other's embrace. Sometimes (mainly during his trucking job), he felt that that kind of finale was to be found only in movies.

The frightened, disgusted look on Gwen's face flashed in Trent's memory just as the lights came up. The film was over.

* * *

Trent stepped out of the TIFF Bell Lightbox and onto King Street. He took a seat on a nearby bench. He was through crying, literally and figuratively.

He loved Gwen, with all his heart. At that moment, he came to a decision.

* * *

Gwen laid on her bed, her laptop glowing in her face. On screen, in smaller boxes, were Bridgette and Leshawna, both of whom look like they had a bombshell dropped on them.

"No way."

"Trent? Laid-back guitar playing dude?"

Gwen shook her head. "I can't believe it, myself."

"You're all right, though?"

"Well, yeah."

"Then what's the problem?", Bridgette said, adjusting her monitor.

"You weren't there. Trent had this look in his eyes...I can't get it out of my head."

"I still find it hard to believe."

Leshawna gave an inquisitive look. "Have you talked to him since then?"

"I haven't. In fact, I'm thinking that that was the last time."

"Gwen, you sure that's what you want? He saved your life."

"He could've killed that guy. In fact, a lot of the stuff he's done in the name of love...it outstrips anything his double did on the show."

"Are you serious?"

"Yeah, there was the whole 'nine' thing, but nothing illegal. I'm amazed he's not in jail right now."

"Do you _want_ him to be in jail?"

Gwen's face twisted at Bridgette's question. "No! I can't believe you just said that!"

"Yeah, Bridgette. What's the matter with you?"

"Trent's gone overboard, but that doesn't mean I want him in jail. I'd never want that for him."

The surfer girl took a pause. "Shouldn't you tell him so?"

"I have to get going." Gwen closed her laptop and skulked toward the door, a sour expression on her face. As she opened it, she bumped right into Pauline. "Please don't tell me you were eavesdropping."

Pauline shrugged. "Fine. I won't." Gwen pushed past her mother, but she grabbed the girl's hand. "You wanna talk about-?"

"No, I don't want to talk about Trent. I don't want to talk _to_ Trent. And I don't want people bugging me about this, either."

Pauline did something that her daughter never expected; she kissed her cheek.

"I know I get on your case about your life, but I just want what's best for you."

"Don't say it's Trent."

"I'm not." Pauline put her arm around Gwen. "You and Jeremy mean everything to me. I would never want to see you hurt or unhappy. If you're happy with Trent, that's fine. If you're happy without him, that's fine, too."

"Mom, I don't know what I want."

"That's also fine, as long as you're happy in your life." Gwen smiled a little. "Dinner should be ready at six." Pauline gave her daughter a hug before walking down the stairs.

"Okay."

* * *

Mount Pleasant Cemetery. Trent had been here every two weeks to visit his parents, mainly to catch them up on his life, much as he had done with his mother at Toronto General.

He rubbed the back of his head as he stood before them. Clearly, he was still feeling guilty about the incident.

"...so, for those reasons and more, I've decided to leave Gwen alone. If she ever wants me back, that's great, but I'm not gonna force her. I love her too much to bring misery on her." The side-by-side graves remained still and quiet. "I really wish I had better news to give you. I love you both."

Trent started to walk away. A stiff wind blew past him. This unsettled him somewhat, not only the suddenness of the gust, but the weather report said that the wind would be at a mere 8 miles an hour.

_"Trent…"_ He stopped at hearing his name. That, by itself, would've been enough to give him pause, but that voice - that lilting voice...he never expected to hear it again.

Slowly, he turned around. Standing at Annette's grave...was Annette. More accurately, it was a mass of free-floating ectoplasm dressed in the same winter gear that she had purloined when she visited Trent.

The young man stood in place, his legs locking up on him. He had never taken a firm side in whether or not ghosts existed. As he saw the ghost of his mother in front of him, he was leaning strongly toward 'whether'.

"Aren't you going to say 'hello'?"

_"Trent, don't be rude to your mother."_ Materializing next to her was Patrick, a bald, stern-looking man dressed in a suit. He was comprised of the same matter as his wife.

"Dad?", Trent managed to choke out.

"I'm sure you're a little surprised to see us", Annette said as she floated toward her son.

"Yes", he spat out in surprise.

"We heard about that run-in you had at Swiss Chalet."

"Oh, my God. I'm so sorry. I don't know what happened. I- I'm so sorry."

"Trent!" The young man clammed up. Even in death, his father could be intimidating. "We're not the ones you need to apologize to."

"And this was all about Gwen?"

"He talked about the things he was gonna do her." Trent shook his head. "I couldn't let that happen."

Annette advanced on him. "You could've held him for the police."

"You could've called the police."

"You know better than to start brawling in the streets."

"And this isn't going away anytime soon."

Trent sunk to his knees. "I've just made such a mess of things. I wanted to protect Gwen, but I just ended up hurting her."

"Trent, I know- we know that you love her deeply. Annette wouldn't keep quiet about how much you went on about her."

"He loves her so much."

"When the time is right, you two'll end up together." Annette frowned as Trent started to cry. "Please don't cry."

"I can't help it." The two spirits gathered around their son, wrapping him in a hug. "Wow, you two are cold."

Patrick shrugged. "Death doesn't exactly lend itself to warmth."

"I just hope I'm not going crazy."

"If you are, we'll still love you."

Trent exhaled as he glanced around. His parents were gone. A sigh escaped his lips. He still didn't know what to do, but he felt happy at knowing his parents were doing well.

* * *

Trent stepped into the Sobey's breakroom and punched in the time clock. He wanted nothing more than for his life to get back to normal. Even without Gwen, he could just enjoy the pleasures of being a free man.

He sighed as he pushed through the break room door.

"_Would Trent please report to the manager's office?"_

Another sigh.

* * *

Trent sat before Leonard. His boss had an unreadable expression on his face.

"You do realize why I called you up here, right?"

"Vaguely", Trent said, hesitantly.

"I'd have never guessed that a guy like you had a violent streak."

"I don't. I really, really don't. Kind of a vindictive streak, which I barely knew I had, but not a violent one."

Leonard turned the monitor of the office computer around so Trent could see. It was a Facebook page with a picture on it. It showed Trent kicking Fedraw in the back.

Trent buried his face in his hands.

"I bet the guy you beat up though the same thing."

"Please don't fire me. This job is, literally, all I have", Trent begged, his voice quavering like he was about to burst into tears.

"Unless you're caught stealing or dumping a body, I wouldn't think of firing you."

Trent smiled in relief. "Thank you very much."

"But still, I'd say a year's probation is fair."

"Thank you."

"I mean it. One negative comment from a customer, one disparaging word and you're out the door."

"I promise so much." Trent grabbed his boss's hand and shook it vigorously. "I will not let you down."

"All right. Now get out there." Trent did as he was asked, relieved at his 'punishment'.

* * *

After a long day at work, there really was nothing like unwinding with some television.

Gwen had assured her mother and Vicky that she was good to work that day. Mollie was impressed with her preliminary sketches and Gwen was asked to expand on them.

She sat on the couch and flipped on the television. 'Nothing very interesting', she thought as she changed the channels.

She stopped on a channel. It was playing an episode of "How I Met Your Mother". Not a show she sought out, but it was nice to come across it.

_"You're the Sexless Innkeeper!"_

_"He is totally the Sexless Innkeeper."_

_"What the hell's the Sexless Innkeeper?"_

_"Ted, many a man- nay, many a soul has their own tale of the Sexless Innkeeper. Why, I had a run-in with one just last year. I even composed a poem. Would you like to hear it?"_

_"Barney-"_

_"Twas the night before New Year's_

_And the weather grew mean_

_Twas three in the morning_

_I was stranded in Queens_

_The tavern grew empty_

_The gaslights grew dim_

_The horse-drawn carriages were all but snowed in."_

_"Barney, if this was last year, why are you talking like it's 'Oliver Twist'?"_

_"Ted, it's a poem."_

Gwen laughed. She set the remote aside. Clearly, she would like this episode.

* * *

Trent had just gotten off of work when he decided to return to his room. The remnants of a burger and fries sat on a plate.

He laid in his bed, the television on in front of him. It's the simple things that one should cherish.

_"Last call was approaching_

_And my fortunes looked bleak_

_Then I turned to my left and I stifled a shriek_

_She had a peach-fuzz beard and weighed 16 stone_

_She gobbled up hot wings and swallowed the bones_

_I muffled a scream and threw up in my mouth_

_I asked 'Where do you live?'_

_And she said, 'One block south'_

_I swallowed my pride_

_And six shots of whiskey_

_And prayed to the Gods_

_That she wasn't too frisky_

_Back in her cave_

_she prepared us a snack_

_'neath her mighty hooves_

_the floorboards did crack_

_But when she returned_

_She found a sound sleeper_

_And thus, she became_

_The Sexless Innkeeper_

_aaaaaand so are you."_

Trent chuckled. He'd needed a good laugh. The show was pretty funny and he enjoyed it whenever it came on. He'd wondered how the show could sustain its framing device, but he was confident that, if and when it ended, it would be well worth the time invested.

He rolled over and saw an envelope on the floor near the door. How had he missed that?

He picked it up and opened it. It was a subpoena. Trent glanced up. He remembered hearing 'You've been served', but he thought it applied to the meal.

Trent read further. 'Aggravated assault'? He sat down on the bed, the wind knocked out of him.

He picked up his phone and dialed. _"Stern, Davison and Palmer."_

"Are any of them in?"


	25. Assumable offense

The law offices of Stern, Davison and Palmer. Very professional. A number of clients have passed through their doors.

Some of them were hunched over in defeat at the impending misery they were facing. Trent was no exception.

Currently, he was talking to Stefan Palmer, who looked younger than his years. "You're sure you don't want this?"

"Very sure."

"She was there that night."

"She was."

"You really don't want Gwen as a witness? Even if you two are no longer together, I doubt she'd want you to go to jail."

"I've hurt her enough. I'd rather die than let it happen again."

Stefan nodded. "Okay, then. Case isn't going to be easy. You're sure he didn't throw the first punch?"

"Honestly, all I can remember is charging at the guy, then, next thing I know, I'm on the ground."

"Self-defense would really help you here."

"It really sucks that I only see you whenever something bad happens."

"If nothing bad ever happened to people, there wouldn't be lawyers." The response coaxed a laugh out of the young man. "I still don't believe you dropped the wrongful imprisonment suit against Chris McLean. You could've won that easy."

Trent shrugged. "I know, but hanging on to the past isn't very healthy."

* * *

It was the third day of the trial. A jury not of peers, but of regular citizens. The atmosphere was thick with tension, mainly on the part of Trent, whose suit may as well have been an iron maiden he felt so uncomfortable.

Fedraw's lawyer - a strikingly handsome gentleman - seemed to have the gathered people eating out of the palm of his hand. Stories had flown around about the kind of lives these reality show contestants had led.

"My client was just minding his own business while on his break. He was talking to a pretty girl. Typical behavior. Then, the defendant, this callous monster, assaulted him without provocation. Hardly surprising, given his clear emotional instabilities as seen on 'Total Drama Action'-"

Stefan exploded from his seat. "Objection, your honor! That was revealed to be a hoax perpetrated by the show."

The judge nodded. "Sustained."

"Even so, his actions, which have resulted in near-permanent damage, should not go unpunished." Fedraw, even in his injured state, tried to smile. He was still pretty banged up. It was said he'd recover, but not without a lot of time.

Trent stole a glance at him and covered his face. He turned to Stefan. "This is like a nightmare. Didn't you say there was a witness that night?"

"Yeah, but we're having trouble tracking him down. You're absolutely sure you don't remember anything that night?"

"Just like I said: he was taunting me and Gwen, I charged at him and then, I wake up."

"I'm not gonna lie: I'm not liking your chances."

"Then put me on the stand."

"You don't remember anything. That plus what you did to the guy isn't gonna swing the jury in your favor."

"Then I'm screwed anyway. May as well go down swinging, so to speak."

"_Mr. Palmer. Does your client have anything to say for himself?"_

Trent stood up. "I do, your honor. I'm not proud of what I did. I tried to tell myself I did it for love. Because of what I did, the woman I love wants nothing to do with me. I'm not going to make light of what I did, because it was monstrous." Trent turned to Fedraw. "And whether I'm found guilty or not guilty, I am truly sorry for what happened. I'm not gonna say you shouldn't have done what you did, but I could've handled it so much better." Trent turned to face the judge and jury. "I let my parents down. I let my ex-girlfriend down. I let myself down. All I want is a chance to make things right."

The members of the jury murmured amongst themselves. The judge nodded thoughtfully. "Is that all, Mr. Van Horn?"

"Yes, your honor."

"Mr. Palmer. Do you have any witnesses to call?"

"Not at the present time, your honor."

"Very well. Court will reconvene Monday morning." The judge banged his gavel. The people got up from their seats.

Trent exhaled. Stefan glanced to the young man. "We got another day. How're you feeling?"

"I'm still alive, so I guess that's a victory."

"Don't worry. We'll find that witness."

"I hope so. I really do."

* * *

July 1st. 145 years ago, New Brunswick, Nova Scotia and the Province of Canada were united into a single country known as...Canada.

All across the Great White North, Canadians have taken this day to celebrate, usually with parades, fireworks and taking the day off of work (which, given that the holiday fell on a Sunday this year, they'd have done, anyway).

Gwen, however, decided to celebrate the holiday in her own fashion: sitting on the couch and watching television.

Pauline walked into the living room, her hands on her hips. "Sweetie, it's Canada Day. You really aren't gonna leave the house?"

"Why? The outside will always be there and I can always catch the news on CBC _and_ CTV." Pauline narrowed her eyes at her daughter. She grabbed her arm and dragged her outside. "What are you doing?"

"I don't ask for much, Gwen. Just this one little thing."

"Can't we talk about this?"

Jeremy opened the door, sparkler in hand. "Wow. Can I play tug of war?"

"Not as long as you're holding that sparkler." Jeremy made ready to toss it. "And don't even think of throwing it away!" The boy groaned.

* * *

Mel Lastman Square. Nerve center of Canada Day festivities in Ontario. Hundreds of citizens were there, eager to celebrate.

Pauline made her way through the crowd, Jeremy and Gwen close behind. "Okay, we've seen this. Can we go home now?"

"I spent a half-hour driving down here and another 20 minutes looking for a space. We're getting our money's worth."

"I'm gonna look for where the fireworks are being launched and guilt the people there into letting me set some off." Jeremy could barely stay in place as he said this.

"You blow your hands off, new ones are gonna your birthday present for the next three years."

Gwen jerked a thumb behind her. "I'm getting something to eat."

"That's the spirit."

"Food does still cost money."

"Didn't you bring your own?"

"I didn't think I'd be leaving the house today." Pauline nearly rolled her eyes as she handed Gwen a ten-dollar bill.

Pauline pulled out her phone and took some shots with it.

* * *

Poutine. French fries buried in cheese curds and gravy. Gwen hadn't felt much like the delicacy in the past, but as long as Mom was buying, may as well live it up.

She stuffed a fork into the container and ate the gooey contents. "Mmmm." Not bad.

She saw a marble table with a chess board embossed within. She sat down and continued her repast. She glanced around. A bunch of young men milling about. To her surprise, none of them were him.

She shook her head. She didn't miss him. His smile, his look of concern, the way his lips felt against hers…

Gwen ate another portion of poutine. Why was he not here? Was he with another girl? Is that the thanks she gets for deleting that video? What is he doing? Is he in a jail cell? Was Bridgette right? Should she be watching the news to find out what happened to him?

She looked up. She saw a young girl run into the arms of a handsome boy. A long groan escaped her lips.

* * *

"Another whiskey?"

"Please."

The bar at the Hyatt Regency was about to close. Trent was on his third glass. The trial was set to resume tomorrow. No witnesses. No clear memory. No chance of freedom. May as well kill some brain cells on the way to a prison sentence.

The bartender set the glass down. Trent responded in kind with a twenty. With a nod, the older man took the money.

Trent raised the glass. "To Mom and Dad and the wish that they'd raised a better son", he said to no one in particular. The bar was empty but for him. He gulped down the contents and set the glass down.

No sooner had the glass hit the bar then Trent hit the floor.

* * *

Trent felt that the courtroom was as quiet as a cemetery, apropos, given the death of the life he'd once lived was imminent. No way could he have been a lawyer. It'd drive him crazy.

Stefan stood up. "Your honor, we managed to track down a witness to the attack."

Trent's face lit up. "You have?"

Fedraw's lawyer gasped. "Your honor...this nonsense may work on 'Perry Mason', but this is real life."

"I apologize for not being able to procure him sooner. His work schedule was maddening."

"Counselors, approach the bench." Both men did so. The judge turned to Stefan. "Do you really think that something like this will lend credibility to your firm?"

"This is unorthodox, I know, but this kid...he's a good kid."

"He's a ball of psychoses. My client-"

"-should've kept it in his pants if he didn't want to get beaten up by some girl's boyfriend...and if I were to find out that this wasn't the first time he harassed some innocent young girl, the both of you would be in deep trouble." The judge focused back on Stefan. "This better be a hell of a witness."

"Thank you." Both lawyers returned to their respective tables.

Trent leaned toward Stefan. "Is this a good witness?"

"I hope so."

* * *

Stefan paced before the young man on the stand. "Would you be so kind as to tell the court who you are and what you do?"

"Sure. Greg Rasmussen, intern at Blue Leaf Studios." Trent glanced up. 'No way', he thought to himself.

"And would you tell us how you came to end up at Swiss Chalet on the night in question?"

"Certainly. The staff of 'Divorced at 17' was pulling an all-nighter and one of the producers had a craving for a Quarter Chicken Dinner, so I had to get it for him. Just as I stepped outside…"

* * *

With an almost otherworldly yell, Trent charged at Fedraw, his fists bared. Fedraw knocked his arm aside and tripped Trent.

Gwen ran to Trent. "Are you all right?"

"Not yet, I'm not."

Fedraw scoffed. "You sure that fight wasn't in grade nine, which is why you're sucking so bad?" Trent ran at him again. Fedraw took the opportunity to punch Trent, knocking him to the ground.

Fedraw walked over to Trent, shaking his head. He raised his foot to stomp on Trent. He lowered it, but Trent grabbed onto it, keeping it off of him with all the strength he could muster.

Trent glanced at Gwen, who got up to hit Fedraw. He grabbed her head and pushed her down.

Trent, his face twisting into an angry scowl, reached up and kicked Fedraw in the back.

Fedraw screamed as he fell to the ground. Trent jumped to his feet and grabbed Fedraw in a headlock. "What'd you say you were gonna do to Gwen?"

Just up the street and outside the restaurant stood Greg. "_I'd have caught the whole thing on my phone, but my hands were full. Also, if I got the food back to the office cold, I'd be out on the street, and I've already had enough boss troubles for one year."_

* * *

"Boss troubles?"

"Earlier this year, I was an intern for Fresh TV and Chris McLean."

"Were you let go in light of the video scandal?"

"No. I was let go earlier. I had a disagreement with Chris over the direction of 'Total Drama'."

Fedraw's lawyer stood up, outraged. "Objection! He's clearly here to bail out his friend!"

"Overruled. Go ahead."

"Trent is not my friend and the disagreement had nothing to do with him. It was about the newest show."

Stefan raised an eyebrow. "Newest show?"

"'Revenge of the Island'. One of the contestants had multiple personalities and one of them was thought to be a psychotic killer. I was just looking out for the well-being of the other contestants and he...let me go."

"Nothing further."

* * *

It had been 45 minutes since the jury was sent away for a verdict. They returned to the jury box and sat in their seats.

The judge looked over to them. "Has the jury reached a verdict?"

The jury foreperson - a middle-aged woman - stood up. "We have, your honor. We find the defendant, Trent Van Horn...guilty." Trent buried his head in his hands.

"I really am sorry, Trent", Stefan said, putting his arm around the young man.

Across the courtroom, Fedraw's lawyer tried to shake his hand, but, noting his client's infirmity, opted instead to pat him on the back.

The judge banged his gavel. "You are to report here Monday morning for sentencing."

Trent felt like crying, but all he could do was slump his shoulders in defeat. It was said that a man seeking revenge should dig two graves. With this news, the second casket had been lowered into the ground.


	26. Reunited and it feels okay

A/N: Yes, I've been away for too long. There's a very good reason for that and it rhymes with 'I can't stand my job and I'm freaking lazy'.

Despondent. That was the only way to describe Trent's mood.

His sentence had been handed down by the court. It was to begin tomorrow. He figured that he may as well enjoy the last bits of freedom he could for a long while.

The screening room of TIFF Bell Lightbox had Trent as its lone occupant. The movie he was about to watch wasn't a critical success, or a commercial one, or very well-remembered outside of people who'd caught it on television.

It was that latter fanbase that was primarily responsible for the movie's showing that day. Trent figured it was kismet. That movie reminded him of her.

He might have stewed in his ruminations throughout the screening if it wasn't for a slender figure passing him and sitting three rows down.

Trent raised his eyebrow. He got out of his seat and slowly approached his new visitor. She had short hair and a choker. Could fate really be doing this to him?

He reached out his hand. The girl, feeling someone's presence behind her, turned around.

"May I help you?" In the darkened theater, he couldn't make out her features, but on closer inspection, the girl's blonde hair caused Trent to deflate.

"No. I'm sorry." Trent trudged back to his seat. He exhaled in defeat.

"_Who was that?"_

Trent slowly turned to his left. He knew that voice anywhere.

"Gwen?"

She sat down, a half-smile on her face. "I almost thought you found someone else."

"No. I didn't. I just thought that…never mind."

She glanced around before focusing on him. "So...how have you been?"

"Well, my sentence starts the day after tomorrow. I figure I may as well get some time in to enjoy the stuff I won't be able to for a while." Gwen started to cry. Trent shook his head. "Please don't cry."

"Why are you so calm about this?"

Trent shrugged. "I don't know. I guess I just need some time to reflect on what I did."

"I'm not gonna see you for a long time."

"You could always visit me."

Gwen bit her lip. "I really don't know if-"

A shadow cast over them. It was the blonde from a few rows down. She wasn't smiling. "Excuse me. The movie hasn't started yet, but I would really appreciate it if you took this somewhere else."

"Fine." The two of them got up, casting an annoyed glance at the young woman who told them off.

* * *

Gwen and Trent stepped into the lobby, the door of the screening room closing behind them.

Trent took her by the shoulders. "What are you even doing here?"

"Mom wanted me out of the house. I mean, it's summer. Haven't I earned some time off?"

"And that movie shoot. How's it going?"

"I'm meeting with Mollie in a week. They're still doing re-writes. They might need new designs."

Trent laughed a little. "You'd think that studios would learn to start their productions with finished scripts for all the money they spend on them."

Gwen exhaled. "Trent, I care for you. I always will, but I really don't know if I could visit you in jail. I mean, a lot of those guys haven't seen a woman in years and being in some guy's spank bank makes me want to hurl."

He looked deep into her eyes. "Gwen...did you really think I was going to jail?"

"You're not?" Her tone was more upset than surprised.

"Honestly, I thought I was for a while."

"And you let me think you were going to jail?" Gwen pounded her fists against Trent angrily, tears falling from her eyes. She soon collapsed into his embrace.

"I'm sorry. Really, I can't tell you how scared I was when they read that 'guilty' verdict."

* * *

Trent stood up in the courtroom, his stomach tied in knots. Stefan put a comforting arm around him.

"_Then, they had me come in for the sentencing."_

The judge glanced down at Trent. "This outburst was very much an outlier in your life, was it not?"

The young man nodded. "Yes."

"You're not a violent person by nature and you would go on to prove it for the rest of your life?"

"Absolutely."

"Very well. Trent Van Horn, this court sentences you to six months of house arrest, two years probation…"

* * *

Trent counted the conditions on his fingers. "...anger management counseling and having to pay Fedraw's medical bills."

"That's all?"

"It's not jail, thank God. Still, I'm not gonna have much free time in the future. They'd let me go to class and work, but otherwise..."

Gwen wrapped her arms around Trent, almost threatening to squeeze the life out of him. She looked up at him. "What was the fight in grade 10 about?"

"Nothing."

"You fought for no reason?"

"There was never a fight. I've never fought before. I just said that to intimidate him."

Gwen pushed away. "I was really scared of you that night."

"After hearing about what happened, I was scared of me too. I never thought I could hurt anyone, much less to the extent I did him." Trent sighed. "I hurt that Fedraw guy. It didn't make me feel better. I hurt Chris and it didn't make me feel better. Well, it did, but it didn't last. I hurt you and it made me feel like shit. I don't ever want to hurt another person as long as I live."

Gwen started to laugh and cry at the same time as she rested her head on Trent's chest. "That's all I ever wanted to hear."

Trent extended his hand. "Shall we return to the movie?"

"Sure." Gwen returned the gesture. He felt a bump on her hand. He smiled as he saw it. "You're wearing my promise ring."

"My finger felt kind of naked without it...like life without you." Trent chortled as they walked toward the door.

He stopped suddenly. "I just thought of something."

"What?"

"Since I'm gonna be on house arrest, I guess you're going to have to learn how to drive."

"I've known how to drive for the last year. I just liked spending time with you."

Trent kissed Gwen on her forehead.

* * *

It'd been three weeks since that screening. Trent was feeling the effects of stir craziness in his room. He absent-mindedly scratched his leg, his monitoring device jostling around his ankle.

In all this time, Gwen had been a never-ending fount of strength and support. The TIFF Bell Lightbox had been just up King Street...and still out of Trent's range. He was desperate to see movies, but the cable selection on the television was sparse.

The Netflix account on his computer was as meaningful and heartfelt a gesture as anything the two of them had shared before.

Trent was lying on his bed, scanning through the 'Thrillers' section of Netflix. A knock at the door broke him out of his reverie. "Who goes there?"

"Room service."

Trent smiled as he leapt out of bed. "I didn't order room service, at least not since this morning." He crept toward the door. "This can only be some kind of trick."

"No trick, sir." Trent threw open the door. It was Gwen, brandishing a bag of Harvey's. "Got you some lunch."

"I'd be happy even if it was just you." Trent took the bag and set it on the bed. He tore into it and pulled out a burger and frings. "Nothing for yourself?"

"I ate on the way over."

"Oh." He took a big bite out of the burger.

"Trent, I was thinking…"

He swallowed. "About what?"

"How would you feel about...seeing the cast of 'Total Drama' again? I know you hate the show, but, still, it'd be cool seeing them again, right?"

Trent shrugged. "Sure. Not sure how I can go to see them all." Another bite.

"That's just it. What if they came here?"

"I'm not supposed to have visitors during house arrest."

"But that would entail us visiting your room. There's nothing against going into a hotel, is there?"

"I guess not. Still, they must be all over Canada", Trent mused as he ate some onion rings. "I mean, how would you even manage to get them all here; get their schedules to sync up? Some of them might have jobs. They might even be vacationing in the States."

"It'd be hard, no doubt. By the way, do you have anything to drink?"

"Yeah, I have some soda from last night." Something dawned on Trent. "Oh, man, I need to get some ice."

"I'll go with you." Gwen followed Trent out of the room. Just as the door closed, the closet door slid open.

* * *

Trent walked back to his room, a bucket of ice in hand. He dug in his pocket. Nothing. He switched the bucket to the other hand and checked the other pocket.

"Would you hold this?", he said as he handed the bucket to Gwen.

"Something wrong?"

"I think I left my room key in the room."

Gwen covered her mouth in surprise. "Oh, no."

"I need to go to the front desk."

"Should I go with you?"

"Nah. I can handle this." Trent hurried off. Just as he stepped onto the elevator, the door to Trent's room opened. A slender hand formed a thumbs-up. Gwen returned the gesture.

* * *

Trent stepped off the elevator, walking with a purpose. As he approached the front desk, several sets of eyes focused on him. One from the gift shop, another pair from the fountain and still another from the stairwell.

The smartly-dressed gentleman glanced up from the computer at the desk. "May I help you, sir?"

"Yes. I seem to have misplaced my room key."

He gave Trent a close look. "Aren't you the gentleman under house arrest?"

"That is the rumor, yes."

"Wait here, sir." Trent did just that. He'd hoped it wasn't too long a wait. If he was away from his phone for too long, who knows what kind of trouble it'd cause?

He idly turned around. His eyes goggled. At the gift shop stood Geoff. At the fountain was DJ. Coming up the stairs...Tyler.

"Hey, Trent!" Geoff approached him, a smile on his face.

"Hey."

Tyler gave a slight wave. "Surprised to see us?"

"Very."

DJ joined Tyler at the top of the stairs. "It wasn't easy gettin' all of us here."

"Yeah. A lot of us had different schedules."

Geoff shrugged. "We were all over Canada."

"_And a couple of them were vacationing in the States."_ Trent turned around at hearing Gwen's voice.

"When did you get this set up?"

"Started the day after the sleepover. I was able to get a handful, then they spread the word. After we broke up, I'd forgotten all about it and that's when some of the initial holdouts contacted me. They wanted to thank you."

"'Thank me' thank me or 'hurt me' thank me?"

"Trent…"

"Seriously, I may seem like a tough guy, but I bruise like a grape."

The guys gathered around Trent. The hurting never came. They shook his hand, back-slapped him and laughed; they were glad to see him.

Tyler shook his head. "Man, how were you even able to get that footage?"

"It's a really long story…"

* * *

As the day went on, more and more former contestants arrived at the hotel. Some were there to see Trent, while others were just there to reconnect.

Most surprising of all, given that the word spread on social media and that he was in a place that didn't even have electricity, was the appearance of…

"Cody!"

"Hey!" Gone was the scrawny geek of old, replaced by someone who'd been working out, or at the very least, someone who'd been toting lumber.

Harold adjusted his glasses as he spoke. "I had heard a rumor that you were living with the Amish."

"How'd you get here?" Ezekiel took a seat.

"Well, last week, I went to visit my parents. I was thinking about logging into Facebook, but I figured that Sierra might've been monitoring my page, so I decided to...check Gwen's page. That's when I saw the message about the get-together."

"How were things going with you and Sierra?"

"Well...not as good as I would've liked."

"How so, eh?"

* * *

The hotel room was nice and intimate, just as she wanted. The ringing phone got her attention. She picked it up. "Hello. Who is this...oh, you want to talk to Cody? Well, Cody's not here, right now. I'll be sure to tell him you called." She hung up.

Cody stirred awake in bed. "Who was that?"

"That's not important", she said, crawling into bed. "All I know is if this 'Mom' bitch ever calls again, she's getting cut." Cody turned over, freaked out.

* * *

"So, needless to say, I broke up with her."

Harold shook his head. "And does she know that?"

"She will, eventually."

Trent passed by, hearing just enough of the conversation. "Really? The Amish?"

"Very true."

"How'd it go, Harrison Ford?"

"I met this really cute girl. She told me about this thing called Rumspringa…"

Walking behind them was Alejandro. He hadn't been notified of the get-together and wouldn't have shown up even if he had been invited. He didn't care one way or another about Trent.

He did, however, see Heather walking into the hotel. In spite of all that's happened, he was still attracted to her.

* * *

Trent had settled in the lobby. He glanced up to see Izzy walking down the steps. "Nice to see you again, Izzy."

She shrugged. "What do you mean? We've been seeing each other plenty."

"Huh?"

"Your room is really nice. Kinda small, though."

Trent shook his head. "You were in my room?"

"Izzy's been in everyone's room, remember?"

"Yes", Trent said with a slight roll of the eyes.

"By the way, you lost these." Izzy handed him a tiny envelope. He turned it over. Two room keys slid out. Izzy glanced down at his leg. "Cool bracelet. What is it, an LP-416?"

"I guess."

Izzy grabbed Trent's leg and fiddled with the monitoring device. "Child's play. I can get it off if you want."

Trent took his leg out of her hands. "Thanks, but no thanks."

She shrugged. "Suit yourself. You could take a trip to Paris, no problem."

"Paris can wait."

At the fountain, Beth sat with Lindsay. The brunette shook her head at what she just heard. "So, let me get this straight: you've just been pretending to be a dumb blonde this whole time so you can become an actress?"

"Pretty much." Lindsay placed her hand on Beth's shoulder. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier."

"I would be upset if it wasn't so impressive. I think you have a good future in acting."

"Thanks. Have you ever considered acting?"

"Nah. I'm not really what's considered traditionally beautiful."

"Don't talk like that. You could be in movies. Every leading lady needs a best friend." Lindsay capped off her reassurance with a smile.

"I don't know. One time, this guy said I sounded like I should be in a David Cronenberg movie. I didn't know how to take that."

* * *

Sadie walked into the lobby. The people there couldn't take their eyes off of her. She'd always been a big girl, so eyes would inevitably fall on her. In recent months, though, she'd taken steps to get her weight down; not to supermodel proportions, but about ten to twenty pounds.

But that wasn't the reason people were staring. It was because, for the first time since a few episodes of 'Total Drama Island', she was without her BFF Katie. Surprisingly, she was doing well.

Bridgette had been talking to Gwen and Leshawna when she saw her. She ran up to her. "Sadie? You look great."

"So do you."

"You look...thinner."

"Well, I've been working out. It's a process."

Alejandro appeared behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. "_De verdad_. _Un proceso largo y lento_."

Sadie turned around. "You must be Alejandro." She shook his hand and pulled him close, a snarl on her face. "_Principio de mi clase de espanol, hijo de puta_."

Heather, who'd been sitting nearby, didn't understand much Spanish, but could tell a threatening tone when she heard it. She approached Sadie. "What did you say to him?" Sadie glanced around and whispered it into her ear. Heather giggled. "Can I buy you a drink?"

"I don't drink."

Heather shrugged. "Just an expression. After what I just heard, I'm feeling generous."

"Okay."

Heather threw her arm around Sadie, walking her away. She turned to Alejandro. With a smirk on her face, she mouthed the word, 'asshole'.

* * *

At the bar, Trent nursed a glass of seltzer water. Duncan pulled up a stool next to him. Trent said nothing in response.

Duncan saw a bowl of peanuts in front of him. With a smirk and a shift of his eyes, he took a fistful of nuts and set them down on the bar. He arranged a handful of them in a group of nine and slid them toward his neighbor.

Trent took another sip as a second grouping of nuts - the same number as the first - gathered near him. He glanced down at the groups of nine next to his coaster.

He looked left. Duncan smirked. Trent simply stared forward and took another sip. "Do you follow the news?"

"Too boring."

"Then, you probably didn't hear about the last guy who made fun of me for the nine thing."

Duncan glanced down at the bulge on Trent's pant leg where his ankle bracelet sat. "Nice jewelry." He rose up to look Trent in the eyes. "You really wanna risk a jail sentence?"

Trent met his gaze. "You really wanna risk a pine box? That guy I beat up, I didn't even know him. You, I know...and you kissed my girl." Trent finished off his drink.

Duncan stepped off of his stool. "You wanna take this outside?"

Trent shook his strapped leg. "I don't see why we can't stay here."

The young men stared each other down, neither caring for their company. Trent balled his hands into fists. Duncan put his hands out. They stepped toward each other. Trent raised his fists. The expression on Duncan's face softened into one of levity.

He threw his arms around Trent, laughing. Was this really a hug taking place? "Man, of course I heard what you did to that guy."

"And you tested me anyway?"

With a shrug, Duncan released Trent. "Had to know if you'd really go all the way."

Trent shook his head. "I wouldn't."

Duncan snorted. He slapped Trent's arm. "You're all right." Trent watched as the delinquent walked off.

Gwen, who'd witnessed the whole thing, ran up to him. "Tell me I didn't just see that."

"What? Me and Duncan?"

"Tell me you two weren't about to fight."

"What? You don't think you're worth it?" Gwen punched Trent in the stomach. "Okay, you're not worth it", he wheezed, the wind knocked out of him.

She kissed him on the cheek. "And don't forget it." Gwen walked off. She shook her head, incredulous at how men could be so immature.

Still lost in this thought, she bumped into Courtney. The flare-up between them was in the past, but Courtney's wounds still hurt.

"Courtney." Gwen's tone was jovial.

"Gwen." Courtney's tone...less so.

"How goes it?" The brunette simply walked past her. Gwen hurried to catch up. "Please, can we talk?"

"I don't want to talk to you."

"Look. I can understand why, but just hear me out. I am really sorry."

"And Duncan?"

"I'm sure he's sorry, too. I haven't talked to him in a long time, but even during the time we were together, Duncan couldn't...can't stop thinking about you."

"I don't believe you."

"Just ask him. I really thought we could be friends. I'd really hate for us to go on hating each other because of Duncan."

Courtney sighed. "To be honest...I never hated you. I was pissed off at you, at him, at myself, at the situation, but I never hated you."

"That's good to know."

"So...Trent shot that video?"

Gwen nodded. "He did."

"Why didn't he send it to me first?"

Gwen bit her tongue. Better not to throw gasoline on a tire fire. "How 'bout we get a drink?"

Gwen led Courtney to the bar, passing by Heather, who sat in a booth. She stirred her drink with a swizzle stick.

A shadow cast over her. "Is this seat taken?"

Heather glanced up. "Not real- oh, for shit's sake!"

Alejandro sat down opposite her. He took her hand in his. "Mi amor-"

She snatched her hand back. "You son of a bit- let me tell you something: if there wasn't a crowd of people here, I'd mail you back to your family in pieces."

"You don't mean that."

"You got me accused of drunk driving. You slandered my name. You got me doing community service. What part of that am I just supposed to forgive and forget?"

Alejandro rubbed the back of his head. "Yeah, I went pretty far, but I was thinking of us."

Heather narrowed her eyes, her voice just above a whisper. "I will never, ever forgive you for this."

Watching that reunion unfold was Noah, who couldn't help but beam at seeing his girlfriend (and it still felt unusual to refer to her this way) go to work.

His reverie was interrupted by a slap to the back. "Noah!" He glanced behind him. It was Owen. Just as beefy and jocular as ever.

"Hi."

"It's good to see you again. I can't believe how many of us are here."

"It's something, alright."

Owen took a seat next to Noah. "So, what brings you here?"

"Heather."

"Oh, you caught the same taxi?"

"Not really."

It took a few moments, but it clicked for Owen. "Wait. You and Heather?"

"Yeah."

"Oh, man! That is weird, her being so mean."

Noah shrugged. "I guess it helps to be a little mean right back."

* * *

After a while, the party moved to the rooftop pool, which had to be closed off, lest prying eyes ruin the fun.

People passing by would swear up and down online that they saw the 'Total Drama' cast. The popular refrain in response to these status updates would often be 'Pics or it didn't happen'.

Bringing up the rear was Duncan, followed by Courtney. "They say you can see the CN Tower from up there."

She snorted. "No way."

"That's what I heard from the bellboy." The door to the roof opened.

Courtney stepped through the door. "That's so ridic...holy crap." The view of the city was breathtaking. Several of the youths leapt into the pool.

"Told you." Duncan stripped down to his boxers and jumped in. Courtney simply stared. "The water's fine."

"I didn't bring a bathing suit."

He shrugged. "Neither did I."

"Well…" By this point, the youths were practically demanding that Courtney jump in. "...Trent's not swimming, either."

"My ankle monitor's signal might get blocked. Sorry."

Courtney pouted. Duncan surfaced and spat some water out. "Look, if you're afraid, that's fine."

"I'm not afraid."

"Then jump in."

"But-"

The crowd chanted 'jump in'. She growled, but if it got them to stop… Courtney gave herself a running start and leapt into the pool. The cheers that went up were somewhat worth it.

Courtney surfaced, gasping for air. Duncan floated next to her. "That wasn't so hard."

She splashed water at him in response. With a snort, he splashed her back. The splashing continued with their pool mates egging them on.

The sounds of 'Dirty Deeds (Done Dirt Cheap)' filled the air. Trent shushed everyone as he answered his phone. "Hello?"

"_Trent."_

"Parole officer Bentsen. Hello."

Duncan mouthed 'Parole officer?' and cupped his hand, making the 'jerking off' motion. Courtney stifled a laugh as she elbowed him.

"_Just calling to make sure you're staying out of trouble."_

"Absolutely, sir."

"_Good to know, because we both know what'll happen if you don't."_

"I do. I really do." With a grunt on the other end, the phone hung up. Trent placed his phone in his pocket.

"Now, where were we?" Courtney splashed Duncan with a wave. Instead of splashing her back, he kissed her. She glared at him and, the eyes of the crowd on her, she dunked him under, a smile on her face.

Gwen got out of the pool and sat next to Trent. "How are you doing?"

"Good. Really good."

"Too bad you can't join us in the pool."

"The pool's not going anywhere."

Trent put his hands behind his head. "Well, neither am I."

* * *

The gathering continued until midnight. While some of the youths made their way home, others headed into the city, feeling that 'the night is young'.

In the lobby, Trent and Gwen stood in front of the fountain, exchanging smiles.

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"Everything. Your friendship. Your love. This get-together."

"I'm sure you'd do the same for me."

"I would. See you tomorrow?"

"Of course." Gwen kissed Trent's cheek.

Trent felt lighter than air as he made his way toward the elevator. He wasn't sure what he did to deserve someone like her, but it must've been special.

The door dinged open and Trent stepped on. Despite his captivity, he felt like he could fly.


	27. Shalom to one and all!

This chapter has been a long time coming, I know, but the important thing is that it's here. BTW, been watching "Total Drama: the Ridonculous Race". Surprisingly good. I guess the show just needed to start fresh.

Planning an interfaith wedding ceremony is never easy, what with two sets of parents butting heads over cost and the traditions for the respective upbringings having to be upheld.

After yet another installment in the seemingly endless gauntlet of arguments, the bride and groom gave strong consideration to elopement. She wanted the lavish ceremony that most girls dream about, but, at the end of the day, all she really wanted to be married to the man she fell in love with. Even in a Las Vegas steeple presided over by one of the town's many Elvis Presleys.

In the midst of one heated debate (the subject of which was the wedding meals), the groom-to-be put his foot down, surprising both sets of parents; he wasn't the 'quick to anger' type by any stretch, but his girl's happiness was all that mattered.

"I'm sorry, but the two of us are getting married and if you can't come to an agreement on how it's gonna happen, it's gonna happen without you."

Not long after, he was approached by his father, who was shocked by - yet proud of - his son's outburst.

"Your mother's very upset, you know. She was really set on a traditional ceremony."

"I know, but...my girl wants a big, splashy, 'all my friends and family in a big church' ceremony. I don't want to let her down."

"Ah, the age-old dilemma of man: support your mother or the love of your life."

The young man shook his head. "What do I do, Dad?"

His father shrugged. "Usually, wait for one of them to pass on."

"Dad!"

"Sorry. Old joke, though to be honest, it worked for me. My advice: if you love this girl, give her what she wants. Your mother may not be too happy, but I'm with you 100 percent."

The young man smiled as he hugged his father, confident in his decision to marry the girl of his dreams.

* * *

The groom looked very handsome in his tuxedo. His mother always told him that he should own at least one tuxedo. Though he felt uncomfortable in such fancy duds, one would never know from the smile on his face.

Opposite him, the bride's face was covered by a veil, but she was certainly smiling as well. She blinked away the tears in her eyes, but didn't think too much about it; every girl cries on their wedding day.

They beamed as they glanced at each other.

The church was packed with guests; of course, the members of each of their families, from the youngest cousin to the eldest _bubbe_, but also the couple's fellow contestants. It only felt right to have them there, as they were present for the blossoming of the couple's relationship.

It was nearing the end of the ceremony, the words of his rabbi and her family's priest fading into one.

"...rejoice in your happiness and we pray that this day marks only one of many more blessings you will share in the days and years ahead. And now that you have spoken the words and performed the rites that unite your lives, we now, by the power of your love and the commitment you have made, declare your marriage to be valid and binding, and declare you husband and wife."

The bride and groom joined hands.

"May God bless you and keep you."

"May God's countenance shine upon you and be gracious to you."

"May God look upon you with favor and grant you peace."

One of the groomsmen set down a lightbulb wrapped in a handkerchief.

"We conclude this ceremony with the breaking of the glass. It is a joyous ceremony. There are many different explanations for the breaking of the glass. Today, the fragility of the glass suggests the frailty of human relationships. The glass is broken to protect this marriage with the implied prayer… May your bond of love be as difficult to break as it would be to put together the pieces of glass. After the groom breaks the glass, I invite everyone to shout the Hebrew words 'Mazel tov', which means 'good luck' or 'congratulations'."

The groom glanced down at the lightbulb. He stomped on it, the cracking sound eliciting a hearty 'Mazel Tov!' from the congregation.

The bride planted a kiss on her groom. The crowd cheered as the now-married couple ran down the aisle, grains of rice followed them as they exited.

* * *

Some time later, the happy couple was treated to the hora, the two of them laughing as they were hoisted into the air. However, it took a while to get to it; there weren't many horas spoiled due to folding chairs, but even one was too much.

"Mrs. Tyler Fielding. If we'd met in school, I'd have scribbled that all over my notebook," Lindsay said with a laugh as she took a bite of wedding cake.

"There's always a photo album."

"Yeah." As if on cue, a photographer - one of Tyler's cousins - snapped a picture of the happy couple.

Lindsay sighed. "I'm glad the ceremony went off without a hitch."

"Me, too."

"I just wish your mother liked me more."

"My mom loves you, Lin."

"I don't know. I mean, I know 'shiksa' isn't an insult, but it just becomes one whenever I hear her say it."

"You shouldn't worry about what my mom says. I married you, didn't I? Just give her time. She'll like you. Everybody likes you."

"Yeah…"

Beth walked up to the couple, looking pretty in her bridesmaid dress. Her brown hair draping around her shoulders as opposed to being strangled in a ponytail helped greatly. "Hey, you two. How's it feel being married?"

"It's pretty nice."

Tyler shrugged. "Feels about the same."

"I'm just sorry you wouldn't be my maid of honor."

Beth took a seat. "You're a good friend, Lindsay, but that kind of responsibility should go to a family member. Besides, your cousin Sophie was a good maid of honor." Beth glanced toward the blonde dancing with one of the groomsmen.

"She was."

"This wedding must've taken a lot of time and planning to put together. Making a dream like this...must be pretty nice." Beth's gaze drifted across the room. "Still, I kinda wish you hadn't invited Heather." Looking stunning in a blue dress, Heather was trying to pull Noah from his seat.

"Old resentments?"

"She says she's not the same girl she was, but I can't help but wonder."

"Heather was the worst, but you can't hold on to that perception forever."

_"She's right."_ Beth's eyes went wide at seeing Rachel McAdams sit at the table. Beth thought her eyes were playing tricks on her when she saw her sitting in the congregation during the ceremony. "You wouldn't believe how many people thought I _was_ Regina George for a while."

"Yeah." Lindsay smiled. "Turns out she's just that good."

"Don't sell yourself too short. I saw a couple of episodes of 'Total Drama Island'. And I thought that Amanda was convincing."

"Thanks. I'm really glad you came."

"Any chance I could get a picture with the happy couple?"

The bride nearly exploded from happiness. "Absolutely!"

Beth pulled out her phone. Lindsay and Tyler gathered in close, Rachel standing over them. As the flash went off, Tyler planted a kiss on his bride's cheek.

* * *

At another table, Gwen took a sip of sparkling grape juice. Her hair was in the all-black style that Trent loved so much. She stared down the bouquet she'd caught. She blushed beet red. "_I could put those in water if you want."_ She gasped at hearing her boyfriend's voice.

"You shouldn't sneak up on me, Trent."

"Who's sneaking? I just saw you with the flowers." Trent took a seat and set a slice of cake before her.

Gwen took a doleful look around. "I've never been to a wedding."

"Really? Me, neither. Well, my folks renewed their vows a couple years before…" Trent started to choke up. Clearly, the wound was still fresh. He took a breath. "...it wasn't quite the same."

"It was really nice of Lindsay and Tyler to invite us."

"_So, what'd you get them?"_ Duncan took a seat next to Gwen. His mohawk was gone, replaced with a regular style of dark hair. "Nine-speed blender?"

"Nah. I thought I'd spoil them with new dentures. No, wait; that's what you're gonna need."

Duncan snorted, as if to say, 'I've heard better'. Gwen rolled her eyes at the machismo on display. Passing by the table was a woman with brown hair. She didn't seem to be smiling. Gwen turned as she hurried by. "Courtney."

"Gwen", she murmured impassively.

Duncan fixed his gaze on the young woman's head. "Nice hair."

"Back at you." Gwen jerked a thumb behind her. "Isn't she gonna sit down?"

"She would if we were together. When she holds a grudge, it's a choke-hold." Trent watched as the two of them chatted, good friends catching up. He found it laughable that Chris tried to create dissent in terms of their relationship. Even more so was how so many people actually believed that they would make a perfect couple. Duncan turned to Trent. "So, how have you been?"

"Good. I'm still at YTV, cutting promos."

"And how is that?"

"It's all right; learning about the ins and outs of business. I just wish the people were...different."

Gwen raised an eyebrow. "How so?"

"There are some good people there, love working with them, but most of them...they're scared of me, either because of what they _think_ I did or what they _know_ I did."

Duncan shook his head. "And how is this a problem?"

"I just want them to respect me."

"Respect you or like you?"

"Okay, like me."

Gwen placed her hand on his. "I like you. Isn't that enough?"

"Well, yeah, but…" Gwen batted her eyes. "You're right. It is enough."

Duncan snorted. "Whatever." He pushed himself away from the table.

"Where are you going?"

A sly smile tugged at his lips. "Just gonna convince someone to make their greatest mistake." Duncan hurried off.

"And you wanna know something?"

"What?"

"The people at YTV, some of them worked for Fresh. They were there when 'Total Drama Action' was on."

"Trent, I swear to God…" A groan was detectable in Gwen's words.

"Let me finish, then you can threaten to leave me." She waved her hand. "Thank you. Turns out that what they did to me on the show was handed down from a cabal of ignorant, mouth-breathing executives who didn't want to have kids think that everyone's entitled to only date one person and have it last forever. Ironically, they - themselves - were all virgins well into their 50s. Clearly, they knew how teenagers thought."

"This isn't gonna turn into something you'll be standing trial for again, will it?"

"I won't lie: I thought about it." Gwen pushed away from the table. "But then...I decided against it."

This stopped her in her tracks. "Really?"

"For two reasons. One: I'm all revenged out."

"And two?"

Trent smiled as he took her hand. "I have too much to lose."

"Why is it that you know just what to say to piss me off and, at the same time, just what to say to calm me down?"

Trent shrugged. "I don't know. Magic?" He glanced toward the bouquet. "So, those flowers. You know what they mean, right?"

"Yes, I do." Trent and Gwen shared a look. "Wait another few years?"

"Wait another few years. Besides, we should probably wait until we have more money to throw around before throwing it at a wedding."

"Couldn't we just go to Vegas; get married there for next to nothing?"

"A quickie wedding. I'm sure Pauline would love that."

"That's why we don't tell her."

"When it comes out - and it will - you're explaining it to her, not me."

Before Gwen could say anything else, there arose a soft moan, feminine in origin. The moan grew louder as it grew faster. The entire wedding party - old and young alike - could hear the sound. After a few moments, the sound crested, the moan replaced with eager panting.

Lindsay covered her mouth, doing her best to stifle the giggles rising up from her throat. It was a sound that she, herself, was looking forward to making that night.

Tyler's mother spoke up. "What was that?"

Gwen smiled a little. "Someone making their greatest mistake."

As the crowd got to talking about the origin of the noise, Trent raised an eyebrow at Gwen, as if to say, 'could we get to make a mistake?'.

She responded with a quizzical glance; 'are you kidding?'.

To offset the somewhat awkward interruption, Lindsay's father cued up the band. The tune they played was a romantic one, sounding a lot like a Bryan Adams song.

Gwen stood up, offering her hand to Trent. "One more dance?"

"Why not? There's no rush." He stood up, meeting her gaze with a smile. "We have all the time in the world."


	28. Epilogue

Well, my friends, that's the story, but before I say farewell, let's see what became of our illustrious contestants...

Following the honeymoon, **Lindsay** took a number of parts in locally produced television shows and a handful of bit parts in major productions that rolled through Toronto. Within a year, she received notice (and a Gemini award) for her work in the drama _Fresh Air_. Before long, Hollywood came calling. Lindsay was apprehensive about leaving her friends and family behind, but **Tyler** supported her no matter what.

Lindsay toplined a number of movies, ranging from the romantic comedy _Grace Under Pressure_ to a gender-flipped remake of _The Count of Monte Cristo_. Some of the projects were well-reviewed, but a good many of them were a miasma of ill-conceived rewrites and half-baked ideas. Lindsay was often cited as the best thing in these films, but the demands of studio filmmaking were taking their toll. Not helping matters were the constant comments about her body, which many assumed to be enhanced.

Tyler, meanwhile, had little interest in movie making, opting instead for a coaching position at Los Angeles High School. The students knew who his wife was, but he was well liked on his own merits, earning the nickname 'Coach T'.

After a while, communicating with family over Skype wasn't quite the same as seeing them in person. The arrival of their first child convinced the both of them that Hollywood wasn't the best environment to raise the girl in.

They moved back to Toronto before their daughter's first birthday. Thanks to his college connections, he landed an assistant coaching job with the Toronto Argonauts. Lindsay, meanwhile, raised their daughter, thankful for the relative peace away from movies. She did return to making movies, though only near her family. Years later, she branched into producing, relishing the opportunity to give a hand to rising talent as had been done for her.

Tyler would sometimes wonder if she missed the bright lights of Hollywood. Lindsay would reassure him that she'd had her time in the sun and that she had all she needed.

* * *

**Eva** practically had to be cajoled into going to college. Her parents were all for her getting an education, but she had a plan set up: Olympics, gold medals, endorsement deals, retirement.

During her time at McMaster University (majored in Engineering with a minor in Women's Studies), she got really into the school's wrestling matches...and how she felt that she was so much better than anyone on the team. Word of this got to the team and though they knew of her from "Total Drama Island", they were skeptical of her prowess. One of the teammates blurted out that they ought to fight her. They all had a good laugh about it...at least, until she beat them all.

Eva's impromptu winning streak spread around campus and was generally treated as rumor. Following graduation, Eva was approached by coach Terry Stuart, who wanted her to try out for women's wrestling at the Olympics.

She parlayed her Gold medal win into a successful career as a UFC fighter. One thing she'd wanted was a relationship, but too many guys were intimidated by her, which only fed into her anger and intimidated them further.

One day, while recuperating in the hospital (exhaustion), she made the acquaintance of a male nurse named Adam. He'd seen a lot in his career, so he didn't intimidate easy, not even when she threatened him to never say their names together. Eva considered girling herself up to win him over, only to find that he liked her just how she was.

Eva never thought she could be so happy, but life has a way of surprising people.

* * *

**Sadie** followed up her time at University at Toronto by becoming a teacher at Westwood Middle School. Spanish was her specialty, though she was often called upon to fill in any gaps left by the staff.

Much to people's surprise, **Katie** didn't follow her BFF into teaching. In a bar one July night, following her graduation from York, she met a guy who was training to become a police officer. Smitten, Katie followed him into the academy. That she proved to be better than him throughout training spelled the end of the relationship. Even so, she grew to like the respect the badge gave her.

Given their busy careers, they never got to hang out as much as they used to, though they did keep in touch. Whenever career day rolled around at Westwood, the two of them got together, laughing, sharing war stories and acting like no time had passed.

In growing up, they'd learned that they didn't always need to be together to be the best of friends.

* * *

His mother always said that 'God has a plan for everybody'. While he loved his mother and wouldn't dare contradict her, **DJ** had his doubts about that saying. He wanted to get a college degree, but was somewhat adrift as to what to major in.

It was a rainy August night. He was driving home from the movies and he'd approached a red light, which he nearly ran. It all happened in an instant. The car he nearly ran into skidding past him and into a lamppost. (Not because of drink; the brakes locked.) Showing remarkable composure, he leapt into action, calling an ambulance and staying with the woman, keeping her conscious with conversation until help arrived. The woman was studying to be a veterinarian, which DJ found truly fascinating. An ambulance arrived and DJ insisted on riding along as the men did their best to save the woman.

At the hospital, DJ couldn't go up to see her; family only. Even though the woman had a boyfriend, he still wished her well. Suddenly, it hit him: he wanted to be a paramedic. The adrenalin rush of helping that woman opened a floodgate. The feeling of racing the clock, saving lives, cheating death...DJ couldn't get enough.

Every so often, one of his patients would ask, "weren't you on 'Total Drama'?". DJ's common response? "I get that a lot."

* * *

While celebrating his 26th birthday, **Owen** had a heart attack. It wasn't his first, but he wasn't so quick to bounce back this time around. In spite of her free spirited demeanor, the experience had the effect of scaring **Izzy** straight. Tears in her eyes, she told Owen she loved him, but it would be hard to love him if he wasn't around to love. She broke up with him, because the pain of losing him so young would be too much to bear.

Owen hadn't lived the healthiest of lifestyles, but he wanted to prove to Izzy - and himself - that he could turn his life around. After getting out of the hospital, he searched for someone to get him into shape. Just about every trainer he asked turned him down, whether due to lack of funds or just finding the task insurmountable.

He hadn't heard from Izzy in the months following his discharge and he worried that he wouldn't ever hear from her again. In desperation, he turned to the only guy he felt could help: **Chef Hatchett**. One more opportunity to work over one of the campers was too good to ignore. Whenever things got too hard - and with the grueling exercises and disgusting food, they were always hard - Owen pictured Izzy smiling at him and found the strength to power through.

Izzy, meanwhile, was hard at work at a sporting goods company. She was driving home the night she dumped Owen, and she could barely see the road, her tears were so plentiful. She just missed clipping an old woman. Following her apology, Izzy offered to take the woman home. The woman had been waiting for a ride, but it never arrived. Izzy explained her situation and the old woman, taking pity on her, wished that she could do something. A week later, the old woman was dead. As it turns out, she was the head of Canada's fourth largest sporting goods company. She left the company to Izzy, who was overwhelmed, but needed something to occupy her mind following the break-up.

On his 27th birthday, Owen found himself out on the town, much lighter at 89kg. He couldn't enjoy it without Izzy, though, so he decided to visit his parents. Izzy was already there, hoping to surprise him, but once she got an eyeful of Owen's new look, it was clear that she was surprised. The two of them reconciled and, once they were alone, Izzy was able to give Owen a present; one that showed that the Izzy of old wasn't entirely gone.

Owen still likes to eat, but he's much bigger on moderation these days. After all, he has a wife, a daughter and a construction job, all of which he cares for deeply. It would be a shame to throw those all away.

* * *

From the moment she saw the splendor of Tyler and Lindsay's wedding, **Beth** had been fascinated with all the moving parts that formed the machine of a wedding. She eagerly chatted up the wedding planner, Rosemary Thorn ("Yes, that is my real name" was emblazoned on her business cards when she first started out.), on her technique. The veteran planner knew a potential rival when she saw one, so she did her best to dissuade Beth from entering the business, citing the long hours, the many necessities and the financial hardships.

However, Beth would not give up so easily. Figuring that Thorn started out small, Beth bided her time, working in a bridal store, while helping set up family weddings. As time went on, Beth took the reins of planning the nuptials of previous wedding's guests. By the time she turned 30, she had a stable business going. She'd even been asked to plan Duncan and Courtney's wedding. Through it all, Brady was by her side, lending moral support whenever things got too tough.

Given what she'd put together, he often wondered what she'd conceive for their own wedding. Beth's answer? "Sweetie...let's elope."

* * *

Med school can be expensive, but **Harold** had a yen for succeeding. His parents were able to help with about 2/3rds of the tuition, but the rest, he had to earn himself. Thankfully, his relationship with **Leshawna** was still going strong.

Her cousin owned a soul food restaurant in Hamilton and while an Art History degree didn't automatically lead to employment, this was a good way to earn his part of the tuition. Clearing out the garbage and bussing dishes were a dirty job, but Harold was thankful for employment after having so many doors slammed in his face.

Harold studied as hard as he could, impressing his professors with his knowledge. Some of them even remarked that he had 'the brain of House and the body of Howser'.

Meanwhile, Leshawna worked toward a degree, but she hadn't considered what kind of degree; she had hoped to figure it out by the time junior year rolled around. She knew that she wanted to be a successful businesswoman. Ultimately, she graduated with a Bachelor's Degree in Economics.

One night, Leshawna's cousin suffered a heart attack. Luckily, it proved to be non-fatal, but she would have to stay off of her feet for a few months. Harold was upset at not being able to help, until his girlfriend reminded him that he was still just a med student.

Leshawna was asked to take over the day-to-day operations of the restaurant, something she was uneasy about. Harold asked her to believe in herself "just as you believed in me". Cheesiness of the speech aside, she had to concede his point.

Even with her new position, she refused to go easy on Harold, treating him like any other employee. Harold, for his part, understood completely. After a few years, he graduated with flying colors. His primary discipline was cardiology, which - after observing the kind of food served in the restaurant - could not have been more appropriate.

Even with her cousin's recovery, Leshawna wasn't ready to give up control of the restaurant, at least immediately. She eventually warmed to the idea of co-owning the business.

The family get-togethers were often memorable, with Harold's parents listening as one of Leshawna's relatives would recount some odd story about themselves while the others passed around various dishes.

The mix of sensibilities was odd, but there was so much love in the combined families that it didn't matter.

* * *

Put his boundless confidence together with his new, Amish work-forged physique and **Cody** was quite the ladykiller. However, he only had eyes for one girl: Dottie, the girl he met at Rumspringa. Every so often, he would regale her with stories of the outside world. Dottie became ever more eager to experience it, something that didn't sit well with her father.

Cody's promise to protect Dottie had satisfied her father somewhat, but there was still the matter of how Cody was going to provide for the two of them. He didn't have the education level that most businesses wanted and his parents didn't quite have enough for college. One night, as Dottie slept, Cody vented about his problems on Facebook. The post was read by a number of people.

Among them was Trent, who recommended a trucking company in Ontario. The need to provide for Dottie and the opportunity to see Canada were both too great to resist. Cody took to trucking pretty well, but his girlfriend missed him like crazy. With seven simple words, Dottie knew that she'd made the right choice in leaving her home behind: "Would you like to come with me?"

The two of them criss-crossed the Great White North, meeting new people, having new experiences and, generally, growing closer. For each of them, life was perfect.

* * *

With Gary's guidance and blessing, **Heather** went to law school. Some joked that she'd been preparing for this her whole life. After a while, the jibes didn't bother her.

She and **Noah** continued to date, giving no serious thought to marriage until her first big win or his first book sale. Aghast at a lot of what passed for fiction on store shelves, Noah became a writer. His first manuscript was a fictionalized, names-changed-to-protect-the-'quote-unquote'-innocent account of "Total Drama Island". Heather got a look at it before it went to press. She admitted that she'd have been disappointed if any punches had been pulled in the book's depiction of mean girl 'Holly'.

It wasn't long after Heather's 35th birthday that she was stricken with cancer. She liked to remark that 'karma had finally caught up with her', a joke that unsettled Noah no matter how many times he heard it; despite how nasty she was in her life, he felt that no one deserved cancer.

Word had gotten out to her fellow contestants, all of whom visited her. She and Leshawna even buried the hatchet. Alejandro came to visit, apologetic, but true to Heather's words, she never did forgive him.

Within a year, the cancer went into remission. Heather was overjoyed, as was Noah, who told her every day - good times or bad - "you'll always be beautiful to me".

* * *

There really isn't much to say about **Justin**, as he didn't end up anywhere that wasn't entirely predictable. He was able to parlay his looks into a lucrative career as a male model. His inability to settle on one of his many admirers had the rumors flying, but his vanity was such that he didn't really mind.

* * *

Chef Hatchett wrote a book on his regimen, 'If He Can Do It, Anyone Can!'. In spite of the windfall he earned, he decided to return to the service; "Just the thing to keep me humble."

He kept in touch with DJ's mother, Thelma, vowing that he would marry her when his tour was done. Thankfully, it was a brief one at six months.

Within that time, though, he witnessed unspeakable horrors; sights that mortal men had no business laying eyes upon. Then, he took over the kitchen. From then on, it was smooth sailing.

Chef Hatchett returned to Thelma, marriage on his mind. There were few days in his life happier than that of their wedding.

Eventually, DJ would call him 'Dad'.

* * *

Following the fallout from his framing Heather, **Alejandro's** life took a considerable downturn. After serving community service, he found that not many people were seeking his employment, which he desperately needed to sustain some kind of existence.

As a last resort, he submitted a job application to the Khaki Barn at the Galleria. Once the bubbly staffers recognized him as the very same Alejandro, they were all too happy to hire him on. He soon showed himself to be a very hard worker, at first because he had little other option, but ultimately because he liked the job, even with his co-workers fighting over him.

In addition to ringing sales, he'd grown friendly with a certain subset of the store's clientele...very friendly. Following a private session, one of his preferred customers...okay, I think we're beyond euphemisms, by now.

One of the older women he was banging suggested a career as an escort. As he had the youth and stamina, Alejandro took on the position. Plus, the pay was better. Through it all, he kept in touch with his family, who supported him during this rough patch, but was soon crestfallen by the news that he was basically a male prostitute.

It wasn't quite the fame he'd wanted, but, in his mind, better to be well-known for something questionable than not to be known at all.

* * *

**Geoff** and **Bridgette** graduated from the University of British Columbia, he with a Bachelor's in Journalism and she with a Bachelor's in Physical Therapy. Geoff's academic pursuit may have made for a cake-like four years, but it left him with few options afterwards.

His attempts at impressing major businesses hit a wall, whether due to those who knew him from "Total Drama" or those that, with one look, couldn't take him seriously. He managed to get a job as a delivery guy for Pizza Pizza. It was upsetting at first, but he soon gained a philosophical outlook: if big businesses didn't want him, maybe he wasn't meant for that kind of work.

One night, while delivering six Hawaiian pies to a hotel room, he ran into one of the interns from when Geoff was hosting the "Aftermath" series. The intern had worked his way to associate producer on "Celebrity Manhunt". They got to talking and Geoff mentioned his Journalism degree. ("That puts you one-up on most of the on-air talent." "A journalism degree?" "A college degree.") The intern, knowing that the jerky on-air persona Geoff put on was just an act, offered to put in a good word for him.

About a month later, Geoff got a call from the ex-intern. He'd cut a deal for Geoff to host "Celebrity Manhunt". A year's salary not only outdid several years of delivering pizzas, but would've wiped out his student loan debts handily.

Bridgette, meanwhile, received an internship for a physical therapy position. It was good to learn more about the position her degree had led her to, but in her heart, she'd rather be surfing. When Geoff sprung the news about his new job, she was apprehensive; she didn't want Dr. Party to be replaced with Mr. Jack-ass. He promised her that those days were behind him.

One day, Bridgette was witnessing a CFL fullback recovering from an injury. He'd lost his footing and fell to the floor, his tendons tearing anew. The athlete's screams of agony frightened her to the point where she decided that a) she wasn't cut out for this line of work and b) life was too short not to pursue your heart's desire.

Faster than one could say 'Moondoggie', Bridgette was catching waves in Hawaii. She'd caught the attention of the locals and did well in a number of competitions. In between, she'd seen "Celebrity Manhunt" and was pleased to find that Geoff had kept his word about not changing. During downtime, they loved hanging out together and even talked about retiring on the beach.

Between their respective successes, they'd made enough money to live comfortably, but the money didn't matter as much to them as the fact that they were doing what fulfilled them most.

* * *

**Ezekiel** never did quite live down his "appearance" on "Total Drama World Tour" (yet another animatronic forgery courtesy of Chris McLean), but the defamation suit filed by his parents (settled out of court) got him set up in his own apartment. Like most people, he had to find a job, settling on an office position with AT &amp; Love. The work was menial, but it was steady.

Whenever he's asked about the show, he's oddly philosophical, stating what he'd have done differently. He spends his off-hours at home, save for Tuesday nights when he's down at the tavern just up the street from his place and cleaning up in bar trivia. He's even managed to catch the eye of a waitress who works there...

* * *

Maplewood High School was looking for a guidance counselor. The perfect candidate was set to begin one day. Unfortunately, he was into skydiving. He broke his leg when he landed. He was laid up in the hospital for three weeks.

When the school hadn't heard from him, they assumed the worst...at least until his "replacement" showed up: **Duncan**. Though he was looking to apply for the position of janitor, he overheard the principal talking to his secretary and, believing (rightly) that guidance counselor paid more, convinced the staff that he had the know-how for the job.

Professionally, this was bullshit, but Duncan did know how to read people, enabling him to assist anyone who crossed his path. His rapport with the students made him popular...as did his willingness to bend the rules, every so often.

A number of people believed him to be the same Duncan from "Total Drama". Whenever confronted with this, Duncan would laugh off such a theory, reasoning that that guy had a mohawk and he didn't.

Despite the female attention he received from both sides of the educational divide, he only had eyes for one woman - the only girl not to fall for his line since he was four - **Courtney**.

More than a few people took note of her angelic singing voice, even though she was looking at becoming a philanthropist. One day, she talked with her family about what she wanted to do. Her _abuelita_, who'd adored her singing, encouraged her to follow her heart.

Courtney hadn't known at the time that it was the last opportunity she'd ever get at seeing the woman again, but she passed on a week later. Wishing to honor her memory, Courtney took up singing as a profession. She toured the world, impressing audiences all over.

The summer after his first year, Duncan found that Courtney would be touring Canada. He packed up a couple weeks' worth of clothing and drove around the Great White North, hoping to get an audience with the one that got away.

He wasn't willing to spend too much on getting into her concerts so, proving that old habits die hard, he snuck his way into her hotels. Once, in an Edmonton Radisson, Courtney thought she saw someone all too familiar, but shrugged it off; the stress of touring must've been getting to her.

It may have been luck - or God's impatience - that led to a meeting in a Tim Horton's in Downtown Vancouver. Courtney was more than happy to put Duncan behind her, but he wanted to speak his peace, feeling he'd only get one chance: "For years, you've driven me crazy. Whenever I thought of you, all I could hear was your nasal, bossy whining." "You about done?" "No. As much as it drove me crazy...that's kinda what I like about you. I'd rather have you in my life driving me crazy than not have you in my life at all." Courtney, still not entirely sure she could forgive him, got up and left, but not without sliding a napkin at him. Written on it was her cell phone number. He was the only person not in her family to have it.

Their phone conversations continued for a couple of years, sharing a number of details: her Grammy nomination, his position nearly threatened by his lack of credentials, but saved by his effectiveness at the job.

One day in November, they ran into each other at Mel Lastman Square. Nothing fancy, just sitting and talking as the sun went down. It was uneventful as far as dates went, but they did enjoy themselves. One date turned into six. Talk of marriage came up, but they both backed down; neither would allow the other to give up their career, much less give up their own.

About three years later, in true Duncan style, he just said, 'Screw it' and proposed. "But what about-?" "We'll worry about the details later. So, will you?" With tears in her eyes and a smile on her face, she said 'yes'.

The sales of her album allowed her to take a break from her career. True to form, the couple came to verbal blows about this; she wanted to keep going, but he wanted her to rest. Duncan sought out a neurologist who advised Courtney that a vacation would be good for her.

As angry as she was at Duncan, she eventually relented that a rest was the best course of action. In the meantime, she applied for a number of positions, eventually landing a job as a paralegal.

The two of them would still lock horns, with she getting so frustrated that she'd occasionally start yelling at him in Spanish. After a while, Duncan would commit minor transgressions intentionally (leaving the toilet seat up, forgetting to turn the lights out at night) just to hear Courtney go off. In his eyes, it made her even more attractive. She caught on to him (as she often did) and decided to ignore his 'crimes'.

The game of one-upsmanship continued, even in raising their kids. They wouldn't have had it any other way.

* * *

If there was one emotion that **Sierra** didn't feel easily, it was frustration. However, criss-crossing the globe in search of Cody left her very frustrated. She'd spent a good year and nearly every cent she had on her trek, only to come up empty.

As she sat outside a cafe in Argentina, polishing off her _empanada gallega_, she'd contemplated her life. She couldn't admit to herself that the journey had been a waste of time, because if she wasn't the girl obsessed with Cody, then who was she?

She hadn't been too happy about being deceived by Cody's parents, either. Still, she considered the good points about her excursion. The people she's met, the places she's seen. All told, she probably had enough material for three books, at least.

While checking her Facebook page (she figured that someone had to have seen him), she ran across an online ad: 'Make Money with Blogging!'. Having no shortage of material, she got to work, telling readers of her many journeys. Posts came at a near-frequent rate. With each post came a payment of $300, which Sierra used to finance more trips. Seeing the world and writing about it fulfilled her in a way her obsession never did.

The surest sign of her growth as a person came some years down the line, when she received a comment on one of her posts from a very familiar name...but she simply smiled and brushed it off. If she could move on, then surely, there's hope for us all.

* * *

And whatever happened with **Gwen** and **Trent**? Well, they stayed together. (You expected anything else?) After college, Trent edited promos at YTV while shooting short films on the side. Gwen, meanwhile, continued her design work at Blue Leaf. She even flirted with set design, only to stick with costumes when things got too heavy.

In terms of free time, Trent liked to practice on his guitar. (It came from a pawn shop he passed one day. It looked so much like his old guitar. He thought better of wondering if it was the same one.) He had some ideas for scripts rattling around his head, but something would always come up to keep him from working on it. As for Gwen, she took up painting. Trent would try to convince her to paint for a living, but she refused. "Whenever I paint, the world slows down. It gets better. Can you imagine putting a deadline on that?"

At 26, Trent submitted one of his short films - "Sweet Dreams" - to a local contest. Though it only placed 3rd, it was enough to get him major Hollywood attention. Trent was excited and nervous at the same time. Every so often in his film courses, one of his classmates would bring up some hot, young up-and-comer filmmaker that would ultimately flame out (hearing about the guy behind _Boondock Saints_ made him shudder). Those moments provoked laughter at the time, but gave Trent pause. He turned to Gwen for support. Instead of kind words, she gave him a hard slap. "You've wanted to make movies for the longest time and you're chickening out when you're given the chance?"

Emboldened by her statement (and her promise to kick him in the nuts if he ever ended up like the '_Boondock Saints_ guy'), Trent moved ahead. It wasn't easy leaving her family behind, but Gwen had never been to Hollywood. He took the water bottle tour, talking to executives about his short and his visions for the films they wanted to make. He felt that some of the movies he was offered were a bit big for a guy who'd just been making short films, though he didn't dare verbalize that thought. After all, George Lucas didn't start out with _Star Wars_.

Through a friend of a friend of an associate, Trent was invited to a Hollywood party. Behind him, a sultry voice beckoned to him. It was Lindsay, who couldn't resist a bit of gentle ribbing. They got to talking and she mentioned her round of auditions. He told her about being asked to direct a number of big movies, but he wanted to start on something smaller first. She mentioned that one of her auditions was for a low-budget caper movie that seemed to be having trouble behind the scenes. Trent called his agent, expressing interest in the movie, called "Nobody's Perfect".

Working on a small ensemble comedy was just the thing for Trent to get his feet wet directing a movie. Building rapport with his actors, understanding how to light and shoot a scene...it was like the hands-on graduate school he never knew he needed. The film was a minor success and, as happens when one has a little success: they are asked to make a bigger one.

One of the scripts that caught Trent's notice during his tour of duty was called "Inconceivable", about a superheroine who finds herself pregnant. Funnily enough, Lindsay had auditioned for the roles of the heroine and her best friend (and Trent was eager to work with her), but the studio opted for Mary Elizabeth Winstead and Emma Stone, respectively. The premise was pretty out there, but it was certain to succeed with the proper touch. Under Trent's hand, the $65 million film was a modest hit and even spawned a sequel. Trent and Lindsay never were able to work together, though he did punch up her dialogue on a few projects.

Every so often, Trent does return to Toronto (a lot of movies are shot there, after all). Three things that he does there each time, without fail: a) visits his parents' graves (and catches them up on his life and successes); b) splits a Pizza Pizza chipotle chicken pie with Gwen and c) arranges a theme night at the TIFF Bell Lightbox. Some popular nights have included: The Future Hates Gary Oldman (_Dawn of the Planet of the Apes_, _Lost in Space_ and _The Book of Eli_), Jim Carrey vs. Literature (_How the Grinch Stole Christmas_, _A Christmas Carol_ and _Lemony Snicket's a Series of Unfortunate Events_) and What the Hell Did Jeff Bridges Say? (_The Vanishing_, _R.I.P.D._ and _Seventh Son_).

Trent ended up making a comfortable living from his directing, enough that he sent a part of it to Fedraw to pay for his child's education. Even though Fedraw eventually made a full recovery, Trent still felt guilty about what he'd done. Also, Fedraw's family wouldn't dare let Trent onto their property.

Before long, Trent and Gwen had children: a girl - Annette - and a boy - Oliver. Even with their busy careers, they always made time for their kids. Whenever Trent was directing, Gwen was at home, painting and looking after Annette and Oliver. The same went for when Gwen was needed for designs; Trent was at home, editing. They felt that Los Angeles was a good environment to raise their children, though they did always go to Gwen's home for holidays. Up or down, thin or flush, they were each other's best support system. The road to true love wasn't the smoothest, but they wouldn't have traded the journey for anything.

And so, our tale comes to an…

Oh, yeah. I almost forgot.

Whatever became of **Chris McLean**?

Well, it took a hell of a plea bargain to keep Chris out of prison, but the path his life took didn't exactly differ from a jail sentence. His office, his livelihood and his mansion were all taken away. As far as the network was concerned, he was toxic waste.

Having no other choice, he was forced to move back in with his father, Pete. The retired tennis pro resented his son's success, but even more, he resented not being invited to stay in his son's mansion even once. ("The damn thing had, what, twenty rooms?!" "Twenty-four.") Still, the old man allowed him to stay. ("Your mother, God rest her, would never forgive me if I didn't.") It was an ignominious life of running errands and having to listen to Pete and his frenemy, Gerry, exchanging stories and barbs.

Even with the largesse he expressed in giving his son a home, Pete wasn't offering a free ride; Chris had to get a job. Of course, the controversy was fresh in the minds of prospective employers, thwarting his chances. He might've given up entirely if not for a phone call he received just as he was heading for another interview.

* * *

People running around signaled the chaos of a show about to go on. The youthful gentleman glanced at himself in the mirror, making sure that everything was perfect. "How do I look?"

The girl next to him beamed as she brushed off his suit jacket. "Like a million bucks."

"Thanks." The gentleman kissed the girl as he hurried by. "Love you, Marnie." The girl blushed bright.

The lights went up. The 'applause' sign flashed. The audience erupted. The show was about to begin.

The young man, a spring in his step, bounded onto the stage. "Hello. Now, given that this is our first episode, I'm very glad you could join us. I'm Greg Rasmussen, and welcome to…"

"Celebrity Ew, Gross!", the audience intoned with him.

"Now, there's a lot in this world that most people wouldn't eat, at least, not without some kind of incentive, which is why this show will reward the person willing to go the furthest. Now, without further ado, let's meet tonight's contestants."

Given his past, one would be surprised to find Greg hosting a show like this. However, his years of interning taught him what not to do and to avoid becoming the same kind of person he worked under. It was just a job to him, but he still treated everyone who worked on the show with the greatest respect. Besides, a season of this and he may be able to afford that engagement ring for Marnie.

"...fresh off of her Olympic Gold medal wins, Josee Le Sieur!" The brunette hurried onto stage, her arms out as if presenting something and a big smile plastered on her face. It seemed an odd move for a Gold medal winner to appear on something like this, but anything to get her name out there.

"And former host of 'Total Drama', Chris McLean!" Greg could barely stop himself from reacting in surprise. No matter how many times he heard it, he couldn't believe that his ex-boss was gonna be on this show. Chris walked out, the swagger from his step long gone.

"You all know the rules. Clean your plate and you move on to the next round." Greg turned off stage. "Let's bring in the first course."

A chef wheeled in six dishes under metal cloches. Each dish was placed in front of a contestant. "Just to get things started on a good note, a Canadian delicacy: cod tongue."

With each dish, the contestants eagerly chowed down. Josee and Chris seemed to be more engaged than most. She was all about winning, while he just needed the money.

* * *

Not long after the taping, Chris was stopped by Blaineley, microphone in her hand and cameraman at her heels. "Well, if it isn't Chris McLean."

"And hello to you."

"Chris, you once had it all: a successful show, wealth and fame. Now, you're on 'Celebrity Ew, Gross'. Why put yourself through this?"

Rather than dwell on what he'd lost, Chris put on a smile. "And give up show business?"

* * *

Yep, we've reached the end of the story. I'd like to thank everyone who read, reviewed and favorited, especially in light of the fact that most people have abandoned Gwen/Trent in favor of...lesser pairings.

In the interim, I stumbled upon "The Ridonculous Race". I am genuinely surprised at how much I liked it, so much so that I packed a few references into the latter part of the story.

I hope to provide more Gwenty goodness in the future (though I can't promise I'll be too prompt about it).


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